Get Comfortable Being Uncomfortable
by GenCurtis
Summary: What's a sailor without a Navy. A commander without a platoon. An expertise in killing men when everyone is dead. Lieutenant Commander Quinn Lee has found herself in an apocalyptic world surrounded by untrained civilians with death wishes. Hooyah.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing (obviously) of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

You can tell a lot about a person by what they tack to their fridge. Their relationship status. Recent adventures. How much they love their pets or children. Which of those they favor the most…

The current Frigidaire under scrutiny was a collage of photos and newspaper clippings.

An attractive pair of blonde people smiled out of most of the pictures. The settings varied, but their contented smiles echoed across the metal face of the fridge. Newly weds, obviously, many of the photos were freshly printed, still glossy and stiff. Likely to be from a recent tropical honeymoon.

There were two photos that stood apart from the theme of blonde hair and new love.

One held an image of a smiling family, the blonde man of the couple appearing as a young teen, his arm around a freckly girl with a wild golden-brown mane. Both had the same dimple as they smiled at the camera. The parents were smiling down at their children's excited faces. The mother's vibrant blonde hair the same shade as her sons, while the father's thinning brunette buzz was reflected in his daughter.

They looked happy, standing at a snow-covered trailhead in heavy coats and leather boots. Scrawled across the base of the photo in what looked like sharpie read "Last Christmas in Alaska."

The second was smaller and appeared care worn, bent corners and fading ink, like it had frequented a pocket or a wallet for a good number of years. It showed the girl from the family photo. She was older, probably 20. Her face all freckles and teeth as she beamed at the photographer. She was dressed in all white; her wavy mane barely contained in a bun at the back of her head, under her arm was a white hat with a black bill and a gold anchor. Navy Dress Whites.

This photo had also been scribbled on, the fading pen ink reading: "Quinny's Graduation, Annapolis." The two photos shared a magnet, a large sturdy-looking gold thing. An eagle grasping a musket and trident around an anchor. The SEAL Trident.

On the kitchen counter across from the fridge a man was sitting, staring at the two photos under the Trident. He was tall, very tall. With strong broad shoulders and long muscled limbs.

"Wesley, we need to leave. _Now_ ," called a stern feminine voice from the depths of the apartment.

The man's brows creased together as he let out a frustrated sigh. He dragged a hand through his shaggy golden hair and pushed himself off the counter top towards the fridge. Carefully he tugged the photo of the girl in Navy Whites off the stainless steel and slid it into the back pocket of his jeans.

"We should be waiting for her, Claire," he growled to the blonde woman who had paced into the kitchen, "Quinn said she would come to get us." The woman, Claire, placed her hands on her hips and gave him a hard look. Mouth thin, brows drawn. She was set on leaving now, and in the end his new wife always won.

Claire rounded the counter to stand beside her husband, tucking her small hand inside of his as they looked at the picture of his family. She could see the corners of his eyes pricking with tears.

"She didn't think it would get this bad this quick, but it has Wes. We need to leave now, or we won't get out at all," she pleaded, "I'd bet they'll bomb the city soon, too much of the population is infected for a quarantine."

Wesley nodded sadly, she was right. Desperate measures would definitely be necessary soon. The infection had spread more quickly than any disease he had ever seen in his 10 years with the Red Cross. The sick were everywhere, and the symptoms were terrifying. The emergency alerts rang that the dead rose again, and were after the flesh of the living.

His colleagues had sent him film footage from California of a dead man coming back to life and eating his wife who had been clutching his lifeless body. The email had read: "this isn't a joke. Grab your guns and get out of heavily populated areas. God help us all."

Wesley grabbed a scrap of paper from the counter and a pen and began scribbling quickly on it. "I'm going to leave her directions to follow us. Hopefully she won't risk coming here after she sees the state of things, but Quinn is a little too fearless for her own damn good," he murmured, as Claire hugged him tightly around the middle of his tall frame.

She was crying now, head buried in her husband's shirt. "That fucking sailor better keep herself alive," the blonde woman sniffled, " this baby needs her aunty. Damn it, I wish she were here. We would be safer, she's trained for this nightmare."

Quinn had told them to leave weeks ago. Her rank and Special Naval Warfare status had allowed her information on the disease before most. When the blonde pair had refused, (they had the baby to think about) Quinn had called him and ordered without room for argument: "I am getting you out. Don't do anything stupid. If you have to leave before I get there, get on base and use my name. My men will protect you. No one is fucking eating my family."

Wesley finished the note and tucked it under the Trident magnet next to the smiling faces of his mother, father and sister.

He pulled Claire into a gentle hug, allowing her to spill tears on to his chest. His hand drifted to the bump on her belly, feeling the life inside move slightly. "Lets go honey," he whispered as his own tears began to fall, "She'll find us, Quinny will find us. No matter what."

They pulled two large back-packing packs off of the couch and swung them onto their shoulders. Wesley bent down to the coffee table and grabbed the two handguns that were there waiting. Handing one to his wife, he slid his into the holster at his hip.

Claire did a final sweep through their small apartment for anything else they may need. She had already done it several times, so she found nothing of value. Knowing that they were finally really leaving, Wes reached for the rifle that sat on the mantle. _His dad's gun_. Wesley glared down at it in his hands, wondering if the old Marine was looking down on his two kids now, watching the world go to hell. The Devil Dog would have laughed, Wes was sure.

With a final glance at the small note on the fridge, the pair left the apartment. They would leave Atlanta, now, before the refugees swarmed in and it became over-crowded and infected. The city was a death trap.

* * *

" _Quinny,_

 _We had to leave. The sickness was spreading to quickly. I had to shoot our neighbor in the head yesterday when he tried to eat me, so naturally Claire is a bit panicky. We're heading for Fort Benning, it's the closest base, and I know Rasta is there from your platoon so we'll be able to get in. Thank god my baby sis is the baddest LCDR around. The dead don't stand a chance. Come find us. But try and help any folks you find along the way; people don't know how to handle this shit and they're all going to fucking die out there._

 _Anyway,_

 _Love you baby sis,_

 _Wes."_

A small and callused hand closed around the corner of the quickly written note, handling it carefully so that the drying blood of the dead that covered it wouldn't smudge the words.

It was a woman's hand. She was standing close to the fridge, grimacing in frustration at the note. Most of her body seemed to be coated in a layer of dirt and blood. Some dried, some fresh, none of it her own.

The apartment was empty. Quinn had been so hopeful when she found the heavy door double bolted, thinking that her brother and his wife were safely locked up inside. But they had left, or at least she couldn't find their bodies, and none of the reanimated dead she had killed on her battle to their apartment had looked like them. Which was somewhat reassuring.

She had searched every crevice of their small apartment for signs of life before ending up in front of the stainless steel Frigidaire that held the picture of her family, and that damn note.

Quinn lived in DC between deployments, and the drive to Atlanta wasn't exactly short. That's why she had implored her dumbass of a brother to leave earlier. They would have dodged the mosh pit of panicked civilians turning the highways into parking lots. Damn the lower 48.

She had come as fast as she could but battling the traffic and the hoards of crazed civilians meant basically idling her way to Georgia. She had just parked her Subaru on the city limits when she heard the bombs dropping. The chaos forced her to drive a bit back and cower in a suburb until the smoke lifted, wasting almost a whole day.

The city was lost now, full of corpses waiting to eat the living. God she must have killed fifty since she entered the city limits on foot, she thought as she briefly glanced at the gore caked to her body. At least they were slow. Men weren't slow, that's whom she was trained for.

Quinn snatched the photo of her family off of the fridge and folded it around the note, tucking both into her back pocket before sliding onto the cold tile floor. She leaned back against the fridge, trying to plan her next move. "Damnit Wes," she muttered to herself in a gravelly alto voice.

Her brother had done the right thing, leaving when he did. Quinn knew that they might not have survived the explosions if they had been around during the bombing. But she needed them to be with her, safe. If there was ever a purpose for her years of military training it was keeping her fucking family safe in this apocalypse. Years of misogynistic assholes trying to keep her from becoming the best damn sailor she could, years of marksmanship practice, and hand to hand training.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, brows drawn together as she thought of potential reunion scenarios. The freckles on her face were more prevalent then they had been in her graduation picture, time deployed in desert climates had increased their count. But apart from that she looked the same woman, still young and full of exuberant life despite the stress of the job and the weight of command. An eternal youth her father had passed down to her in his Alaskan blood.

She pulled one of her duel combat knives from its sheath at her lower back, using it to slice moodily at a callus on her hand that had ripped open during a particularly hairy bought with a large dead Guardsman.

She would head towards Fort Benning soon. But she wasn't quite mentally prepared for the sea of dead she would have to weave through to make it back out of the city. Quinn smoothly slid her knife back into its sheath and began re-braiding her long mane of wavy hair. Seeking the therapy of familiar motion. She delighted in the fact that it had remained somewhat gore-free.

Her Subaru was hidden in the woods just outside of the limits, figuring it would draw less attention to her if she went in on foot. The dead seemed to flock towards any loud sounds. This little theory unfortunately meant she wouldn't be able to use her glock on the return journey. The handgun strapped to her hip would have let her stay a little further out of harms way. She had forgotten her handgun silencer in her car, something she would be sure to never do again. Knife fighting meant she was always in range of the things hands. Their clawing, cold, dead, blood covered hands.

She shuddered, leaning her head back against the stainless steel behind her. She had finished her braid, the classic French styled rope hung to her low back. Quinn briefly wondered if her hair might be a safety hazard soon, with all of those hands constantly reaching for her.

She pushed the thought away, she would deal with her own aesthetics at some point when she wasn't stuck on the third floor of an apartment building surrounded by reanimated corpses.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing (obviously) of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

Glenn had made a wrong turn. He had been so confident that he could tell all of the identical Mid-town Atlanta apartment complexes apart that he hadn't left himself a trail. _Fuck._

In front of him stood a cinderblock wall, probably a good 20 feet high. It boxed the alley he had stumbled across into what had probably been a pleasant little courtyard for the apartment residents. Complete with potted plants and white wicker chairs. A charmingly Southern little space. If there was ever a moment that the young man wished that he had been graced with a taller stature, it was that moment as he faced the wall.

He was on a supply run, looking for ammunition like the hulked-out deputy had ordered him to. Glenn had wanted to be helpful in some way to the bundle of people camped at the quarry, and because he was small, fast, and familiar with nearly every detail of the city, this had seemed like his best option. Just in and out, real quick. Alone so that he could improvise without restraint. As easy as delivering pizza… Theoretically.

Panicked tremors started to shake his body when he heard _them_ finally make it to the edge of the courtyard he was trapped in. Dragging feet. Rough, hungry groans. The dead were coming, drawn to the sound of breaking glass he had caused by accidentally shattering the storefront window of the hunting shop across the street. He should have at least grabbed a gun before he ran away; at least then he could have validated making so much noise.

Dark eyes darting around the courtyard for a means of escape, he ran through his options. The apartment windows on the first floor were barred, probably as a burglar deterrent and not as a signed and sealed death note too the young Korean, but he was offended regardless. Who cared about getting their damn TV stolen when people were trying to eat your flesh?

Not an escape.

The second floor windows looked more promising, but they were definitely out of his reach. His vertical certainly wasn't up to par with that sort of height, even with a running start.

There was a fire escape on one of the buildings that made up the alley, but it stopped at the second story, the last yards of metal ladder were pulled up and locked securely far above his head. Another damn burglar deterrent.

 _Didn't realize Atlanta was so dangerous_ he commented in his head.

The groans were louder now; a group of maybe 15 corpses was advancing quickly. He was thankful that was all he had attracted with his stupidity. He would probably be able to dodge by a crowd that small and dart the hell out of the city without having to do much fighting. Fuck the ammo for now, he would get it next time.

He raised the metal baseball bat he clutched nervously in his hands and swung full force as the first dead man made it into his reach. A little cloud of rotten blood erupted from the corpse's skull as it crushed under the weight of the swing. The body collapsed in a heap. One down, Glenn thought as he swung again, the next corpse immediately on him, paying no head to its fallen comrade as it dragged its dead limbs over the fallen body.

As the bat connected, Glenn was showered in what he could only imagine was a concoction of brain matter and expired blood. He spit some out of his mouth, squinting his eyes through the invading gunk on his face to continue his onslaught. He was again faced with gnashing teeth and reaching hands. Thankfully his baseball hat seemed to save him from being entirely blinded by the gore he was creating.

His bat was making too much noise.

The hollow metal echoing in the courtyard like a dinner bell as it collided with skull after skull. More corpses were appearing at the street-end of the alley; soon he would be fully boxed in.

Arms shaking with adrenaline, he kicked what looked to have once been a police officer away from him before following through with a swing of his arms and a resonating clang of aluminum on bone. His back was almost to the wall of the apartment building with the fire escape.

Maybe he could used the barred first floor windows to climb up and reach it. He was approaching desperation.

Glenn was close to vomiting from the stench of the dead, his mouth watered and his eyes stung as he tried to will his gag reflex not to react.

He couldn't take much more of this, his arms were weakening and his blows did less damage to the dead with each tired swing. Even a rotting skull was difficult to shatter. _Dead for the sake of ammo, who'd have thought._

A soft 'clink' suddenly pulled his attention. The sound of boots landing on the fire escape above him. A firm voice sounded from above him, it was harsh, raspy, but definitely human. _Thank God._ "Kid, when I say jump, you jump. Understand." It was an order. He nodded quickly, still swinging his bat and kicking out to keep the dead at bay.

Boots thudded above him, and the voice from the fire escape growled, " _Now."_ The order was followed by a loud metal clang, and Glenn ran towards the fire escape and jumped. He knew he couldn't reach high enough with just a jump, wondering briefly if he had imagined the voice so as to convince himself to commit suicide.

Mid-flight he felt two firm legs close around his right elbow and he grabbed on as he was swung upwards powerfully. Limbs flailing, he was thrown onto the fire escape. Bat still miraculously in his hand. The metal of the landing he now sprawled on creaked as his savior climbed back onto the safety of the escape. Panting with exhaustion he closed his eyes and laid his head back on the metal, hoping to slow the rise and fall of his chest.

He was fairly certain a pair of thighs had just saved him, which was a new tactic. But hell, he was alive.

"The fuck were you doing alone in the street?" came the voice from above him. Calm, but stern.

Glenn felt a boot prod his right shoulder gently, the action caused an unexpected sharp pain and he hissed through gritted teeth, "Ow," eyes watering immediately. Now his shoulder was throbbing, how had he not noticed that earlier? _Damn adrenaline._

"Damn, I must have dislocated your shoulder when I swung you. Sorry, bud." Came the reply. It was softer then all previous tones he'd heard his savior use, making the voice sound surprisingly feminine.

Glenn flicked his eyes open, his breath finally slowed enough to function, and peered over at the person crouched to his right. Thick black military combat boots, dirty and worn, met his eyes. They were smaller then he thought they should be though, a woman's size. Glenn shot a look to the face of the person.

Blue eyes, tanned skin, and an abundance of freckles speckled across sharp cheekbones and delicate features sunk into his vision. A young _woman_ , maybe late twenties. Jeans that had probably once been clean, blue, and unscathed were tucked in to the tough combat boots on her feet. A gray long sleeve shirt clung to her leanly muscled body in a similar state of disarray. Discolored in a combination of blood, dirt, and sweat from the intense Georgia heat. Some sort of eagle symbol was embroidered on the chest, but Glenn was sure not to stare at that area long enough to recognize it. That voice was a _woman's_?

She was speaking again, in a quiet rasp. Sounded like she had spent several days straight yelling with how harsh her voice came out. Glenn quickly focused on her face. "Look man, we need to move. Those corpses below are noisy as fuck and they're going to draw the whole damn city. My stuff is up on the third floor, there," she pointed towards an open window directly above them, "Once were in the apartment I'll try and fix your shoulder. Roger?"

Her elbows were rested on her thighs as she crouched and watched him process her, one dark eyebrow cocked. Thighs that could probably crush a man's head, or dislocate a shoulder… _Jesus_. He eyed the handgun holstered on her hip, and what looked like two very large knives' handles poking out from either side of her waist. She was fairly terrifying. A small noise left Glenn as he choked back a nervous laugh. "Roger," he finally returned his mouth breaking into a smile.

* * *

Finally he spoke. She had been worried he was in shock when he had just been gawking at her, and she had briefly thought she would have to carry him, which would have been a difficult task given the state of his shoulder. _Oops._

Quinn tossed her long messy braid over her shoulder and pushed herself back to her feet, reaching out a hand to help him up she cracked a smile to the young man. Teeth flashing white against the general grime of her appearance. He took the offered appendage and yanked himself to his feet. He was still visibly shaking from his fight with the dead, but at least he was upright and speaking now.

It was time to move. Quinn headed for the ladder leading to the next landing on the fire escape, and the window to her brother's apartment. Glenn fell in line right on her heel, not about to be left alone with the courtyard full of corpses again. She made quick work of the 15 feet of rungs, but when she reached her brother's window she turned to check the kid's progress, ready to help. It was difficult to do much of anything with a dislocated shoulder, so climbing a ladder was no easy feat. Quinn had a brief flash of a memory of trying to climb a rope at the Academy with her shoulder out of place, not a task she cared to repeat. She exhaled forcefully, her brows knitted together in frustration; there was no more Academy, she had heard news of its turn during her mad dash to Atlanta. _How many of her fellow sailors were dead. How many of her own men._

Glenn let out a little groan of pain, his shoulder clearly causing severe discomfort. The sound drew the brunette sailor out of her thoughts and she moved to crouch above him on the landing, offering a small and callused hand as he approached the final rungs. "I gotcha bud." She stated in hoarse tones as he took her hand with his good arm and allowed her to pull him to the landing. She was careful not jerk him too much, leveraging her lower-body strength to counter his weight, not wanting to jostle the shoulder injury.

Quinn leapt through the open apartment window and slammed it shut once her companion clambered inelegantly through it. He stumbled across the room and fell into her brother's armchair, looking pained and exhausted. Her eyes shot to the front door, keen to see if it was still double bolted the way she had left it when she started hearing the sounds of an aluminum bat.

It was, thankfully. They were safe for another moment.

The sailor sunk into the couch across from the armchair, kicking her dirty boots up on the coffee table. An action of sheer spite towards her sister-in-law, who didn't allow shoes to be worn in the couple's overly neat little apartment. Quinn crossed her arms across her chest and let her eyes fall on the kid. " What's your name?" she requested.

The young man's soft brown eyes drifted from the floor to her face, he paused as if analyzing her trust-worthiness. Eyebrows creasing slightly as he struggled with what to do, idly rubbing his shoulder and limp arm. "Glenn," he responded eventually, finding no malice in her delicate features, she had just saved his life after all.

"And yours?" Glenn asked, looking more confident in his situation.

"Name's Quinn." The sailor responded in her rasp of a voice with a friendly smile."Now how about you finally tell a girl what the fuck you were doing out there alone, Glenn?" Her eyes were on his, the look in the blue depths was bordering on suspicion. She slid one of her knives out of its sheath deftly and started scraping dried blood from her nails with it.

Glenn's eyes widened almost comically, and he started stuttering. Keeping his gaze focused on the lengthy combat knife. Quinn laughed to herself when she glanced up and saw the look on his face, the sound was light and musical. A stark contrast to the gravel in her voice.

Eventually the kid spit it out "I was on a supply run for my group. I've done them before without an issue, just real quick trips. Usually for food." He explained."But this time they sent me in for ammunition, and the hunting store across the street apparently had a very delicate storefront window," he laughed a little at this, taking his cap off with his good hand and running his fingers through his hair, "The glass drew quite the crowd of walkers, so naturally I ran the hell away. But, I turned down the wrong fucking alley!" He exclaimed, thoroughly exasperated.

Quinn laughed softly at his frustration. Poor guy.

"Did you know this one is blocked with a wall? What bullshit is that. Anyway then you ninja'd me to safety and popped my arm out its socket…" Glenn trailed off, looking down at his shoulder then back at the brunette across from him, his eyes now falling into their best puppy dog impression. "Can you fix it?" he asked hesitantly, "You said earlier you would."

"I can, but it'll still hurt like hell 'til we get you some anti-inflammatory pills, or at least some pain meds." She warned, "But I guess you won't be much use on the retreat with a limp arm flopping around, so this is the only option really." Glenn made a face when she mentioned 'flopping around,' but nodded his consent all the same.

Quinn hopped off the couch and stashed her knife safely at her back. She pointed at the coffee table, "Sit on that and face away from me." Glenn obeyed, quickly plopping himself on the short table in front of her.

The sailor dropped her hands to his shoulder, "On three," she felt him tense under her touch, "One… Two…" 'Pop.' She caught him off guard, knowing it would hurt more the tenser he became.

Glenn let out a pained groan and rubbed the now properly situated shoulder. "But you said on three!" he whined from his seat on the table. Quinn shrugged and winked at him, a broad smile gracing her features, revealing the dimple she shared with her brother.

The kid released a sigh and mumbled a "thanks." He would need to rest for a few minutes, so the sailor sunk onto the coffee table next to him, drawing her legs onto the table to sit cross-legged.

"Happy to help. My bad for ripping it out of its socket in the first place, man." She responded.

They sat in silence for a while, both allowing their thoughts to drift to the people they missed. Glenn wondering worriedly if Shane would be mad at him for this hiccup in his mission. The man could be a bit intense.

Eventually, Glenn threw her own question back, "So what are you doing in the city on your own then?" he asked, somewhat cautiously. She was an intimidating figure, and he wanted to be careful not to push the wrong buttons. Hopeful to make a new friend.

The brunette woman thought for a moment, deciding how best to explain her tale. "Well, this is my brother's apartment," Quinn stated, gesturing at the room, "Unfortunately, the ass didn't wait for me to come get him like I asked him too. I blame my sister-in-law. She always gets her way."

Glenn was nodding, sincerely glad that she was just a person looking for her family and not a psychopath. Reassuring.

The sailor continued, deciding to keep the details she shared to a minimum: "I live in DC so I had to drive through 640 miles of parking lot traffic and resurrecting corpses to come down here to find them."

The guy let out a gasp, "You drove from DC! That's fucking insane! Why didn't you guys just meet somewhere in the middle!"

Quinn was scraping blood from her fingers again with her knife, trying too keep herself from worrying about her family. "My sister-in-law, Claire, she's pregnant. Wes didn't think it was safe to move her through highly infected areas. He's a doctor, the big bro, so naturally he thinks he knows what's best. To them it was better to stay close to Atlanta." Quinn paused, looking over to Glenn with sorrow in her blue eyes, "That's why I had to come, I knew they wouldn't be safe in the city but they wouldn't leave. So I came to protect them."

Glenn thought about asking what she did for a living that made her prepared enough for this nightmare they were living in to want to come running into one of the biggest danger zones, but between DC and the silver chain around her neck he had a good assumption. _Soldier._

Black boots hit the floor and Quinn rocked off the coffee table onto her feet. "It'll start getting dark in a few hours, and we need to be the hell out of the city when that happens," she rasped.

Glenn looked up at her curiously before standing himself, "What happened to your voice?" He asked, "No offense, but I feel like someone who looks like you shouldn't sound like Daryl."

Quinn quirked an eyebrow at the guy, a smirk on her lips. "Who's Daryl?"

"He's just a guy I know, don't worry about him." Glenn said quickly. Last thing he needed was the redneck ruining his chances of bringing back this Laura Croft in the flesh to camp.

"Sure, man. Whatever," the woman laughed, "I spent my journey from the North yelling at terrible drivers, dead people, and just the world in general. It's a good stress reliever, yelling. Kept me from panicking about Wes and Claire. Although I suppose I probably looked like a maniac the whole way, just yelling to myself," She explained as she walked towards the kitchen, Glenn in tow, "But I'm always a bit hoarse. Job hazard." The male was nodding again, he felt like he'd been doing a lot of that motion, but her answer made sense. Apocalypse traffic was intolerable; he knew that for himself from his time in the RV.

Quinn threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him over to the kitchen counter where she had been pouring over a city map before she had rushed out onto the fire escape. "So," she started, "We are here," she moved a finger to a spot on the map, "I cleared the stairwell of this building up to the floor we're on now about four hours ago, so it's probably still fairly corpse-free. They struggle with stairs. But the streets around the building are a whole different ball game; the action in the alley brought a whole herd stumbling our way." Quinn moved her finger to a spot off the highway just out side of the city, "This is where my car is. If your group is desperate enough for ammo to send a man in on his own, I can spare a bit. I cleared out a few gun stores on my trip from DC. Most of the boxes don't match my arms anyway." She commented.

Glenn was nodding along again as she spoke, still under her arm. It was an easy position, as their heads were an even height. "They would definitely appreciate the ammo. But, honestly if you would just come back with me that would be even better" Glenn offered hopefully, "You're military or something right? We have women and children back at our camp, and only a few of the men know how to handle weapons. The more people who are confident with guns the better. You never know when a walker is going to stumble into camp."

Quinn murmured "something like that," under her breath, not ready to divulge her identity completely. She looked across her shoulder at Glenn. He was a good kid, and she was willing to bet he wasn't running with anyone overly dangerous.

A glint off of the Fridgidaire caught her eyes, drawing them to the pictures of her brother that covered its face. Smiling, blonde, carefree Wes. The last lines of her brother's note ran through her mind: _help any folks you find along the way…_ She let out a soft sigh; Wes would have gone to help these people. She would go, she may not be a doctor like her older brother, but a well trained SEAL could make herself useful when there where people to protect. "Yeah, yeah, alright I'll go with you... Well, I'll at least drive you back to your camp."

The young Korean man smiled happily and did a little fist pump, showing his youth. He let out an excited "sweet!" He headed over to the armchair where he had discarded his backpack and pulled it onto his shoulders.

Quinn folded the city map and tucked it in her small pack.

"So it'll be a good two mile run through the corpse jungle back to my car. You ready for this shit Glenn?" The sailor asked as she swung the pack onto her shoulders, buckling its straps across her chest and hips so it wouldn't jostle as they ran.

He nodded, wringing his hands together with nervous energy. "Fuck yeah, lets run."

With one last look around her brother's empty apartment, Quinn flipped the padlocks on the door and wrenched it open. She slid one long knife out from its sheath, blade facing her elbow, letting her muscle memory take over. Knees bent, knife arm up and ready to strike. _Hooyah._

Glenn gripped his baseball bat, raising it to the ready. He fell into step behind Quinn's vigilant form as they crept out of the safe zone, trusting her to lead him. Just like her men always had.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

 _A two-mile run, but only as the crow flies_.

They were still running. It had been well over an hour, and agile pair had definitely covered at least two miles of pavement. _Felt like a marathon_. They would hit the wall of exhaustion soon, between the fierce humid heat and the exertion of their fast pace it was only a matter of time. Their bodies ached for rest and water.

Glenn started to slow his pace, his body losing its will to run, the stress of the day had been so taxing on him already. A near death experience or two and a dislocated shoulder were way more then enough excitement for him. Thankfully, the sailor leading him had noticed the sound of slowing footsteps before the gap between them was too great.

Quinn held a hand out to her sweaty, tired companion, "Just a bit further, sailor," she rasped in her hoarse alto, her blue eyes pleading. It was a phrase she had spoken a thousand times. Glenn wiped his face on his t-shirt, drying the sweat in his eyes, and took her hand, allowing himself to be towed back up to speed. Synchronized foot falls resonating on the pavement, the only noise besides the dead.

The dead waited around every corner, their presence repeatedly forcing changes in Quinn's carefully considered mental route. She was frustrated with herself; the string of curse words running continuously in her head grew more vibrant with every corpse-filled wrong turn. If she had just brought her damn silencer this would have been maybe a twenty-minute affair. God she wanted to shoot something. _Never again_.

Glenn's hand was sweaty and difficult to keep a grip around as they weaved through the least-occupied streets, but the sailor feared he would fall if she let go. They couldn't risk stopping, not even for a moment. They had drawn too much attention to themselves with their ragged breath and echoing footsteps, and the dead were hungry.

They were close to the city limits now. The buildings were shorter and the dead less frequent. The corpses seemed to congregate more centrally, probably where they had feasted on the cities last survivors. A pleasant thought. If Quinn's memory was correct her car should be very close, maybe four more blocks and over a chain-link fence and they were golden.

The pavement was hot under her feet as Quinn tried to keep her cadence steady, burning her black boots as she ran and adding to her general state of over-heatedness. Damn the South. The sailor shot a look back over her shoulder at the man she towed along, his face was red and he looked every bit as hot and tired as she felt.

"This way," she called back to him, making a sharp right and pulling him down a familiar street. They were definitely close; she could see the chain-link sparkling in the Georgia sun. Beyond it lie trees and grass, and her beloved vehicle.

"Ah fuck." A crowd of corpses came lumbering into sight maybe twenty yards in front of them, groaning hungrily with dead arms out stretched as they chased a raccoon. Blocking the path of escape. The two runners skidded to a halt, hoping beyond hope that they hadn't been noticed.

Quinn dropped her companion's hand and swiftly drew her second knife. They would likely have to cut their way through this crowd. She knew that neither of them had the energy to run around the obstacle. Glenn gripped his bat nervously, turning his hands on the handle while he looked to the sailor for orders. "What's the plan, boss," He said under his breath.

Blue eyes flicked between the fence and the dead, assessing. They would be able to take on this crowd. It wasn't too large, maybe 10. "Stay right on my six," she responded, "I hope you're a proficient fence hopper 'cause we gotta make quick work of that thing once we hit it."

Her companion let out a little rush of air, trying to calm himself, "Roger," came his tired voice.

Quinn began cautiously jogging forward again, both knives up and ready, Glenn following. They made it maybe five steps before the first corpse noticed the approach of fresh meat. It was an older woman, she wore a disheveled pink nightgown and her left arm was entirely missing. This didn't seem to be a deterrent for the corpse though, as she reached her one arm towards them, discolored fingernails covered in the blood of her last kill. Dead eyes staring at them as she groaned.

Quinn dispatched of her with a quick jab to the eye, knife driving through the corpse's brain. _Here we go._ The rest of the crowd had noticed them now, dead arms and gnashing mouths focused on the new found living prey. Knives singing through the air, Quinn began to fight. Stabbing and slashing her way through the brains of those in her path, trying to clear a hole toward the fence. The sound of aluminum hitting bone graced the air behind the sailor, letting her know that Glenn had joined the fight. He was one brave motherfucker, Quinn thought, she was damn glad she pulled him out of that alley.

If there had been any clean spot left on the brunette woman's gray longsleeve that was quickly changed, she was now thoroughly coated in the blood of the dead. She pulled her knives out of the eyes of a large dead man with a mustache and kicked the now unmoving corpse to the ground. There was now a path to escape; the remaining group of dead was still a few feet from attacking, leaving the two tired companions an opportunity to run.

Quinn threw an arm out behind her and caught the back of Glenn's pack, pulling him towards the chain-link; "We gotta make a run for it. _Now_." It was an order that he quickly followed, finding his feet and taking off behind her.

There was a rattle of metal links as four hands hit the fence and began climbing. Adrenaline surging new life into their exhausted bodies. The small group of corpses they had left alive was almost upon them, driven into frenzy by the sound of rattling as the two runners made quick work of the metal barrier. They had reached the top before the first set of dead hands began to shake the chain-link, groaning hungrily at its escaping prey.

Glenn froze, big brown eyes locked on the corpse below him. He had almost died more times that day then he cared to think about, and the sight of discolored fingers reaching towards him again was bringing him close to panic. A familiar voice rasped, " _Jump,"_ from the ground on the safe side of the fence. The firm order drew him out of his panicking mind and he obeyed immediately, leaping from the top of the fence and hitting the grass on the other side in a semi-composed crouch.

A hand came into his vision, small and covered in blood. Glenn seized it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by one of his companion's gore-riddled arms. He knew that he must be in a similar state of disarray when Quinn made a face with a cocked an eyebrow and flicked something unrecognizable off of his shoulder.

The Subaru was just where she had left it. _Thank God._ Quinn ran to it and hugged the hood shamelessly, never so happy to see her beloved vehicle. Her face in a wild grin of teeth and freckles as she lay her head on the black metal. Glenn started laughing when he reached her side, but shared her feeling of relief. They were home free.

With a little blip of the key fob Quinn unlocked the doors and wrenched open the driver side, throwing her backpack into the back, and quickly plopping into the seat and shutting the door. Glenn sank into the passenger seat and closed the door, bag and bat between his feet. Never had he been so happy to sit.

They just sat there for a minute, reveling in the fact that their run was finally over. The sailor leaned forward to rest her forehead on her steering wheel, and let out an exhausted sigh. Glenn closed his eyes, reveling in the quiet. Soft breathing the only sound in the cab. They were damn tired and disgustingly dirty, but very much alive.

Quinn flipped the keys in the ignition and pulled the car into drive, heading back toward the highway. "So where am I going?" the sailor asked, glancing over at the kid to her right.

He was squinting out at the road in front of them, trying to remember the route back, "We're camped at a quarry a few miles down the road, I'm not sure exactly how far… But I'll recognize the turn off!"

Quinn let out a chuckle at this, "Sounds good, kid." She swept some strands of hair that had fallen out of her disheveled braid out of her face as she scanned the highway for signs of danger. None so far thankfully, most of the corpses seemed to be satisfied to stay within city limits.

Glenn was looking curiously around the inside of the black Subaru. It had dark tinted windows, and a black interior to match the paint job. The back seats were filled with an array of bags. The small pack Quinn had worn earlier lay on top of the pile. With it were two long black cases that almost definitely held guns. Fancy guns, going off the look of the hard bodied cases. There was also a heavy-duty camouflage-printed backpack, which confirmed his theory of her military standing. There were patches on the front of it reading: "BALTO" and "LCDR," which meant nothing to him but sounded military.

Something hanging from the rear view-mirror caught Glenn's attention as the hard plastic glinted in the setting sun. It was a base parking permit, covered with important looking information. "Nice to meet you Lieutenant Commander Quinn Lee of the Navy SEALs," Glenn shot cheekily to the woman driving the car. A goddamn Navy SEAL, he should have figured. No wonder she was so at ease in a fight.

The sailor chuckled and punched him lightly on the shoulder with a small fist, "Not my secret identity!" she rasped while she laughed, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth.

"I didn't know women could be in the SEALs," Glenn said hesitantly, hoping not to offend the sailor.

She laughed again, "We're a rare breed so its pretty common for folks to think that," Quinn explained, "Besides my men always said I looked enough like one of them that probably no one noticed my gender anyways. The bastards." Her memories fell to her faithful sailors and her laugh took a sorrowful tone, she hoped they were still alive and fighting. If there was ever a group of men who could survive the apocalypse it was her SEALs. With all the shit they had been through before the turn, this was a walk in the park. _Here's hoping._

Glenn on the other had been trying to imagine any sane person mistaking the fairly stunning brown haired freckly woman as a man. Maybe in full tactical gear… Still seemed a little far fetched, but he could admit when she was covered in blood and grime like she was now she looked a little inhumanly terrifying. But definitely not masculine.

A few minutes passed before the young Korean scanned the road again, looking for the turn off that would bring them to the quarry. "There it is!" he exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat and pointing excitedly at a gravel road, "Told you I'd recognize it." His face broke into a happy smile, as the sailor chuckled quietly next to him.

She turned off on the road, slowing the Subaru down to a speed more reasonable for gravel. The sun was low in the horizon now, throwing glorious shades of pink and orange across the Georgia sky. In a different time Quinn may have stopped the car to watch the setting sun, she had a soft spot for the way the warm colors drove away the blue every eve. As a child in Alaska she had spent many evenings perched on the roof of her family's house with her brother, staring in wonder at the colors in the sky and their reflections in the snow.

"Be prepared to hop out of the car and let it be known you're with me," Quinn rasped, "I know that I would be quick to draw on an unfamiliar vehicle these days, and I think we've almost died enough times today, bud." She cocked a dark eyebrow at her companion, making sure he understood.

Glenn rubbed his hands together with nervous energy, he hadn't thought of that. He would have to hang out the window or something so they could see him. Last thing the young Korean wanted was to put his new friend in danger after she had spent practically all day saving his ass. "Right, yeah I'll keep them from killing us." He assured the SEAL, calmed by her chuckle of a response.

* * *

The sky burned orange and red like a forest fire in August. Vibrant rosy hews melding with scarlet and yellow to create beauty in that Georgia evening that seemed unequaled.

The warm colors bounced off the parked cars that surrounded the little camp at the quarry, making the air itself seem to glow like fire. A perfect match to the low but crackling one the group of survivors encircled as they ate dinner.

The beauty was lost on most of them. All but the few children, as the rest had seen too much ugliness in the weeks and days previous to notice something as trivial as the setting sun.

"Hey Mom, look how red the sky is!" A small pale boy with brown hair exclaimed as he prodded his mother's side.

She was a thin woman, with beautiful long brown locks and fair skin, "Yes, it's nice Carl," she said to her son without a glance to the sky. Her eyes were locked with those of the large muscular man who sat at her side.

The man smiled at her before speaking to the little boy, Carl, "Hey, bud make sure you eat all your food. Your momma worked real hard to help make this food for all of us." The man wore a t-shirt with a logo over the chest, a sheriff's office shield. The man was a deputy, and the acknowledged leader of the group due to his aggressively commanding personality and his experience with guns and law enforcement. Although some were less then happy with his authority.

"Okay, Shane," Carl replied, looking up to the man with clear respect on his little pale face. A father figure. The boy began shoveling soup in his mouth from the small bowl he held.

It was an odd group of people gathered around the fire, people that could only be drawn together by this end of the world experience. An older man with a gray beard and a fishing cap sat between two young blonde women, sisters, they were all chatting amicably with a small thin black woman about travel. Next to them was a very tall thin man. He looked uncomfortable sitting, limbs sprawled about him; he was talking about the intricacies of car engines with the large black man seated by his side.

There were two more families with children in addition to Carl and his mother. A cheerful looking Hispanic family, content to talk amongst themselves, sat nearest to the boy, the daughter of that family sharing the occasional comment with Carl.

The remaining family was a confusing trio, a pretty mother with short gray hair and a thin blonde little girl who both seemed to be constantly cowering away from the father. A large, fat, lazy looking man. They kept to themselves and spoke very little, the daughter pressed into her mother's side as she ate her small serving of soup.

Two men also sat at the fire, noticeably separate from the rest in both distance and appearance. They were gruff, hard, and wore leather. Probably could pass for members of a biker gang. True rednecks. The older of the two, with a short gray military buzz, was speaking loudly to his companion, his brother, in a rough southern accent true to the Georgia woods. A menagerie of slurs and curses poured from his mouth as he told some story of a past bar fight. The younger seemed to be ignoring him (although it was no deterrent to his brother) ice blue eyes on the setting sun as his callused fingers fiddled mindlessly with a string on the shoulder of his sleeveless shirt. _Damn beautiful sunset._

There was one person missing. The whereabouts of one young Korean man lay heavily on all their minds, whether they would admit it or not. Glenn had left early that morning, just as the sun had risen above the horizon, to look for ammunition. It was Shane's order, the deputy wanted to have a stockpile of rounds in case a herd of corpses happened to stumble their way any time soon.

The kid had been more then willing, it wasn't his first supply trip and he was quick and confident in his knowledge of the city, so the group had let him go without too much argument. The only firm words had come from Dale, the older man in the fishing hat, who had requested the kid take a weapon just in case. So Glenn had left in a hotwired Camry they had taken off the highway with nothing but a backpack and a baseball bat. That had been almost twelve hours ago.

As if the universe had heard their collective thoughts, headlights appeared on the quarry road, accompanied by the soft roar of an engine. "Oh thank god," came the soft voice of Lori, Carl's mother.

Shane sprung to his feet, alarmed, gesturing to the other able men as he ran towards the approaching headlights. "That's not the car he left in!" The deputy exclaimed worriedly, raising his pistol as he ran. The large black man, the two rednecks and the father of the Hispanic family jumped to their feet, the men who had weapons. Three quickly drew guns and followed the deputy, while the younger redneck seized a sturdy looking hunting crossbow from the ground at his side and headed after them.

The rest of the group remained at the fire, per the order Shane had given in a stern glare, but they were on their feet and peering apprehensively towards the approaching vehicle.

It was a black Subaru, with darkly tinted windows, a heavy-duty roof rack and the biggest traction tires that would fit the wheel wells. Practically made for the apocalypse. The license plate was an Alaska state plate, a rarity in Georgia before the turn and now simply unheard of. But, the strangest thing about the slowly approaching hatchback was the young Korean man sitting with his body half out of the passenger-side window, waving his hat like wild. "Please don't shoot us! Please! It's Glenn!" The passenger yelled to the group of armed men.

"The fuck ya doing wit'a new car, china man!?" the older redneck, Merle, called to Glenn as he lowered his gun.

His brother, Daryl, lowered his crossbow and glared moodily at the Subaru, "Knew I shoulda stayed at tha damn fire, ain't in no danger from that lil fuck," he muttered to his brother. Merle chuckled harshly, voice rough from years of smoking.

The vehicle stopped and Glenn hopped out of the window and rushed in front of the car with his arms up, "So I brought someone back, which I didn't know if you're okay with…" he rambled, brown eyes huge and pleading "…but she saved my like a thousand times today so I think we should let her stay with us, and she has ammo she said she'll share…Please don't shoot her…"

Shane looked over the stammering kid's shoulder when he heard the driver side door slam, raising his gun to point at the newcomer. "You armed?" he called to the approaching driver.

"Course I'm fucking armed." came the terse response in a raspy undeniably female voice. It caught the deputy and the pack of men off guard and they lowered their weapons, clearly none of them had heard Glenn say " _she_." The woman was tall, muscled, heavily armed, and covered in what they could only assume was the blood of the dead. A sight that would have put them on edge if they were faced with a beard instead of the delicate freckly face of an attractive woman. How easily men overlooked a gun and knives when staring at a pretty young face.

Quinn smirked at the men in front of her, watching them assess her and deem her unthreatening. She had experienced similar settings countless times in her career, and at this point she just found the misogyny entertaining. It's easier to come out on top when you're constantly underestimated.

Glenn threw an arm over his companion's shoulder and led her over to the men, pointing to each as he named them off to her under his breath, "This is Shane, T-Dog, Morales, Merle, and Daryl." The sailor nodded along, filing away the names.

Shane, the beefy man in a sheriff's office t-shirt standing in front of the rest, _the leader,_ offered her his large hand. "Shane Walsh, sheriff's deputy" the man spoke, clear pride in the mention of his title, "and you are, miss?" _Miss…_

The brunette Alaskan took the offered hand and shook it firmly, blue eyes flicking between him and the posse behind, "Lieutenant Commander Quinn Lee, US Navy." Her rasp somehow managing to ooze rank and authority, as she stared down the deputy. Glenn's eyes darted between his female friend and Shane and knew that was the tone she must have used when she ordered SEALs around, if anything could make the world's toughest men snap to attention, it was the sharp rasping orders of this authority.

Merle stood up a little straighter when the woman introduced herself, arms falling to his sides and chin raising. Muscle memory responding to an officer from his time in the Navy all those years ago. _Another sailor, an ally._ Daryl elbowed him sharply in the ribs when the ever-attentive hunter noticed older brother snap to attention, ice blue eyes drawn in a concerned glare. "The fuck ya doin' Merle?"

Quinn had foregone letting the deputy find out on his own that she outranked him almost laughably. She had had enough of men looking down their noses at her, and she knew that when the time came she would need people to follow her orders. The world was dangerous now, there wasn't time to question ideas based on gender when lives where on the line.

Shane smirked at the brunette and dropped her hand as he led them back towards the fire where the rest of the group still gathered. The accompanying men still silent.

Quinn could feel eyes on her as she walked with Glenn's arm around her towards the fire. She shot a look quickly over her shoulder to find the offender. Blue eyes, light like the Alaskan morning sky, bore into hers for a moment. Evaluating.

The rough looking man with messy hair and muscled arms exposed by a sleeveless shirt swiftly shifted his gaze from hers back to the man he walked with when he realized he'd been caught staring. Eyebrows draw into a glare.

Quinn cocked a dark eyebrow at the pair.

This one would come in handy down the road, Shane thought, a high-ranking sailor would definitely know her way around weaponry. One more set of eyes on watch. Although he wasn't about to follow the orders of a woman, his southern heritage taught him better then that. _There shouldn't even be women in the military._


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

Fourteen pieces of matte black metal rested atop a plush sleeping bag. The collection, a menagerie of shapes and sizes, apart seemed harmless. Each had been meticulously cleaned with careful expertise by the light of a small lamp. The dim glow just enough to illuminate the interior of the Subaru in the wee hours of the Georgia morning.

A SEAL never slept in. Especially not on the first morning in an unfamiliar camp. The darkly tinted windows of the black Subaru hid the glow of the lamp within from offending eyes, creating privacy. Although no one seemed to be awake. The vehicle was nestled between an RV and the small collection of tents, all of which lay dark and quiet.

Quinn leaned back against her pillow in the nest she had created in the back of her hatchback, examining her handiwork. Fourteen spotless pieces ready for re-assembly. She flipped her long brown ponytail of now fairly clean hair over her shoulder and cracked her knuckles, ready to begin the process.

The sailor had always found the process of disassembling, cleaning, and re-assembling her sniper-rifle meditative. The weapon had been her companion on many missions throughout her career; the familiar motion of caring for it drew forth memories of patience-trying times when she had lain motionless with her eye to the scope. For minutes. Hours even. A reminder of her own strength of will.

The night previous had been a whirl of introductions and new faces around the fire. Men and women of various ages and backgrounds. A mosh-posh of survivors brought together by necessity. They had bombarded her and her young Korean friend with questions about their Atlanta experience, concerned by the amount of filth that coated each of them.

Well, all but the pair of heavily accented rough-looking brothers, who had outwardly showed no interest in the conversation. Instead focused on an argument between themselves. Their hushed gravelly tones barely audible.

Glenn had done most of the talking, the kid gesturing animatedly as he spun the story of their run through the maze of dead. The sailor had been content to sit by his side and rest her strained voice, only contributing the occasional raspy "he's exaggerating" when Glenn's memory seemed to betray him, or he gave her a little too much praise. She wasn't some damned hero.

The eyes of the group had pierced into her throughout Glenn's tale, weighing his words with her appearance. _Southerners._ Quinn hadn't paid them much mind, distracted by the unlikely presence of happy-looking children around the fire. Bless the little beings. When the sailor had seen them laughing quietly together, blissfully unaware of the world's horrors for a moment, her freckly face had broken into a small smile. The days' stress melted into the background as she remembered the faces in her past of children from countries torn by war, still full of youthful hope and happiness. It was then that Quinn knew she had made the right decision in coming there; hope is such a fragile thing.

She had been allowed to bathe in the RV. The owner of the rig, Dale, was a sweet retired guy who had fussed over her state of disarray until she had agreed to utilize some soap. Wasn't good for that infected blood to sit on the skin, he had insisted vehemently.

Someone had also offered to wash the sailor's clothes. Carol, a gentle woman with hair cropped short, had insisted the discolored garments were no longer fit to wear without a wash; the stains may scare the children. It was said with a smile though, so Quinn knew she meant no venom.

The sailor had happily grabbed a new set of clothes from her car. A navy blue t-shirt, soft from years of use, and her only other pair of jeans. They were ripped and fading, but the black denim fit her body like a second skin. Well loved, a shield against the unfamiliarity of the situation.

It was a sponge bath, as there was no running water, with a bucket of water, soap, and shampoo in the little shower stall.

It had taken Quinn a good chunk of time to scrub the mix of blood, sweat, and dirt from her skin. But, her long disheveled mane had proven the most challenging to wash in a bucket; eventually she had given up on sponging at it and dunked her head in. Never one for the delicate approach.

When she finished her tired body had relished in the newfound feeling of cleanliness, and the sailor felt somewhat civilized again. Or at least she looked it. Clean body, clean hair, and clean clothes.

Thirteen pieces assembled.

The .50 caliber rife looked deadly once again as Quinn's deft hands screwed the final piece onto the end of the muzzle. A noise suppressor. Entirely necessary for every firearm in this new hell.

With her methodical task complete, the soldier stretched her stiff body, joints popping as limbs reached outward. Mouth falling open into a monstrous yawn. The stress of the previous day hadn't been entirely washed away with her bath; the subtle ache in her calves a reminder of the sweaty miles run.

She would need to check on Glenn's shoulder today, the ibuprofen she'd found in her pack probably wasn't enough pain relief on its own. The kid needed some ice and a good shoulder massage. Both would be hard to come by.

The sun was just beginning to peek its tired face above the horizon, splaying color across the sky with its climb. Quinn's sign to relieve her cabin fever and crawl out of her cozy nest in the back of the Subaru. It was maybe 5 am.

The sailor figured she wouldn't alarm anyone too much by being up and about now that there was light in the sky. She had forgone the option of climbing out earlier for fear of accidentally being shot.

Thick black combat boots pulled over heavy wool socks and laced securely. The natural material was not exactly ideal for the weather, but definitely the lesser of two evils when it came to blisters forming on her heels. Feet were a thing to be carefully cared for, absolutely necessary in every part survival. If there was one thing that the Navy SEAL dreaded, it was blisters. To be held back by your own body's weakness did a number to a sailor's pride. Besides, the Alaskan had been born and raised in wool. Some habits die hard.

She pushed one of the back seats down and scooted out the side door, knives and pistol fastened comfortably to her body again, rife in hand. An extension of her muscled limbs.

The air was crisp, although quickly heating as the barely risen sun foreshadowed another sweltering day. The blades of grass that speckled the campsite sagged under the weight of small droplets of morning dew, leaving wet footprints where the sailor's boots tread.

She could see no other footprints disturbing the dewy sheen. Reassuring in a time where unidentified steps could mean a stray corpse lurked about. Maybe she would get to go a whole day without killing something, wouldn't that be a treat.

The camp was still; all occupants tucked away in tightly zipped tents and sleeping soundly. The only human sound besides her light breathing was subtle snores. _Wait…_

Quinn froze, blue eyes wide, realizing the crucial entity that was missing from this serene morning scene. Long wild ponytail whipping around her, she twisted her neck to peer at the top of the RV. Hoping she had somehow missed the presence of a person in the chair on the roof. _Idiots._

It was empty. Of course it was fucking empty.

The night previous she had been assured time and time again that the camp was secure. In her exhausted state she had accepted the answers without much investigation. Thinking that with this many people successfully surviving, they must have a reliable system for managing camp security. Clearly a mistake.

"You can sleep peacefully, miss. We have a guard on duty 24/7 just in case any of them walkers stumbles towards us," the pompous deputy had cooed. Patting her shoulder like a condescending father.

The SEAL swore colorfully under her breath as she moved to the RV, swinging her sniper rifle over her shoulder by a thick leather strap before swiftly pulling herself onto the roof. The camp chair that perched there was damp, the layer of dew coating the canvas still untouched. No signs of the dry spot that should have been there if anyone had been on watch recently. _Are these people trying to get eaten._

This close to Atlanta limits there was definitely risk of a herd finding them.

Resigned to her new task, Quinn began setting up her rifle. Lying on her stomach, she popped down the .50 caliber's monopod from the body so that the large weapon could be easily balanced in her grip. With the camp backed up to the quarry, the only painfully exposed area was the access road. So she would focus eyes on that area, adjusting her scope accordingly, saving the rest for her practiced ears and roaming glances.

Over an hour passed with no movement from the camp.

Not a single person had stirred and it was almost 7 am, Quinn noted with a glance to her diving watch. Her mind wandered to her early years in the SEALs, fresh out of the Naval Academy, when she and her squad had trained tirelessly on the frigid eastern coastline every morning. Awake before the sun. Just as a test of will. The strong show themselves in those hours before dawn breaks, in salty water and smothering sand.

The sailor could practically hear her old C.O. doing the dreaded wake up call as her blue eyes floated across the dark tents. _If you wanted to sleep in you shoulda been a goddamn accountant, sailor. Get your fucking pansy ass out of bed._ Quinn chuckled to herself, the soft sound breaking the morning's silence.

Finally, movement. Someone was rousing inside the tent staked near the large motorcycle and the old blue truck. The brothers' tent, if her memory served.

Quinn hadn't interacted with them much after her initial arrival. Other than catching one staring at her. But the whole camp had seemed to stare at her last night, so that wasn't exactly unusual behavior. They had been in an argument most of the night, and the sailor hadn't been able to decipher enough of the hushed and gravel-filled accents to know what about. Nor had she cared particularly.

She had a sneaking suspicion that the older of the pair, with the short gray buzz, had been a sailor. Or some variety of servicemen. Quinn's keen eyes knew what it looked like when a body snapped to attention, be it intentional or otherwise. Training stuck with you, even if you pushed it to the back of your mind in retirement, muscle memory would fight its way through.

The man in question crawled out of the tent he shared with his sibling, a tired looking combination of stubble and half-open eyes, and sat himself on a log near the entrance. Forced awake by both unbreakable habit and the need for a cigarette. He produced one from a pocket, lit it, and inhaled deeply. Eyes closing serenely as he reveled in the crisp solitude of the morning. Merle had yet to notice the other awake party in the camp.

Movement on the road. Quinn tensed, eye pressing into her scope as she focused on the intrusion. A trio of corpses had stumbled out of the woods and found the quarry road, the randomness of their gait showing they had not caught the scent of the little camp. The shots would be less then a kilometer. Achievable without calculation of wind speed and other variables, and with her military grade sound suppressor the shot would be barely audible.

She paused, body coiled and ready to act, but not sure how to proceed. Should she wake the camp up and warn them that there was danger nearby, as these three could mean potentially more… or should she just shoot the damn things now and investigate later.

The sailor watched the corpses staring dumbly up at a tree through her scope.

A release of breath and the smell of cigarette smoke from down in the camp reminded her that there was a second opinion available.

Quinn let out a chirping whistle to catch the man's attention.

From his spot on the log Merle perked up, alert and looking for the maker of the familiar summoning sound. Tired eyes found the sailor on top the RV, evaluating her pose. Widening when he noted the enormous sniper rifle she was toting. With her body ridged and her eye firm to the weapon's scope, Merle could tell she was locked on target. Off the log and across the camp, dew showering his feet he strode over to the woman. Cigarette sizzling out on the wet grass, forgotten.

"Tell an ole sailor what yer seein', Commander." Merle said quietly from the side of the RV. Hands on the ladder as he tried to decide if he should ascend.

"Hat trick of dead men. Less then a kilo out," Quinn rasped against her cheek rest, eye trained on the corpse, "They're alone and oblivious though."

Merle quickly moved up the ladder to stand behind the stretched out sailor, careful not to disrupt her. He traced the line of the rife with his eyes, peering out toward the road. His eyes were not good enough to see the threat, but he knew from experience to trust the instincts a trained sniper. "Hesitation?"

"Should I wake the others? Could be more lurking," she paused, watching through her scope as the corpses reached hungrily up at something in the tree, before adding "We'll need to scout the area."

The veteran nodded his gray head, squinting eyes still on the road where the sailor aimed, "Take it if ya got it, I'll wake some tha boys."

Three harsh pips of air through the suppressor, shots recoiling the rifle into her shoulder as she made miniscule adjustments to take down each target. Three dead corpses.

After the last body fell Quinn let her own relax slightly, arms and hands loosening around her weapon. Pulling her head away from the scope, she flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder; neck popping as she did so.

She had heard Merle climb down from the RV after her second shot and now glanced to follow his soft footfalls as they headed off towards the tents. Quinn was fairly sure she had made an ally of the vet that morning. He may be grizzled and crude, but the service is above petty prejudice. Even to a Georgia woods southerner.

Glenn, T-dog, and Daryl emerged from their tents soon after Merle had shaken them in a merciless alarm. The first pair looking sleepy and confused as they stumbled out into the campsite, not expecting the rough wake up call from the graying vet.

The young Korean spotted Quinn in his daze and headed toward her like she was a safety net, T-dog following, not keen on being left alone with the older red neck. Glenn figured the sailor would explain why the hell people were kicking his tent and trying to terrify him to death. He was still shaken from the previous day in Atlanta, and had hoped to sleep for as much of the day of he could. Plan foiled.

The crossbow hunter had sprung awake with a start to his brother's shake, eyes alert, and immediately angry with himself for sleeping in. He never slept in.

He jogged to fall in pace alongside Merle, both heading towards the other men. The younger brother growling under his breath about missed hunting opportunities.

Merle responded to him with a fist to the shoulder, "Ain't the time for your bitchin' Darlene. Gotta scout for walkers 'round the road, the Commander just killed three o' the fuckers." He indicated Quinn with a gesture to the RV.

Daryl flinched away from the hit, brows knitting together in confusion as he grimaced at his brother. _The Commander?_

The hunter had never heard his brother refer to anyone by a title. Not even the damned doctor. The man was always reliably rude. Ice blue eyes following the vet's gesture, Daryl found the person in question.

Wild brown hair snaked down her back in a ponytail as she lie on the roof of the RV, freckled face pressed against the scope of a military .50 cal sniper rife that was balanced expertly between freckled arms and steady hands. Silenced muzzle facing the quarry road.

The hunter cocked an eyebrow at the scene, "Oh," he murmured quietly as he and Merle joined the other pair of men at the side of the RV. Waiting for direction.

Shane's tent had been empty when Merle had looked to rouse him. But, the vet was _fairly_ certain he was in another tent and had no intention of investigating further. _Too early ta deal with that shit._

Quinn pushed herself up from her prone position and swung her legs over the side of the RV so that she was looking down on the little group of men. They peered up at her; three sets of eyes with sleepy and somewhat confused expressions, Merle looking miles more awake in comparison.

"Mornin'." She offered from above with a flash of a smile and her hoarse voice before swinging her rifle over her shoulder and jumping down to stand amidst them.

"Dropped a trio of dead hanging around the road about a half mile or so up. But there could be more" The sailor gestured an arm in that direction, then continued to the brothers and T-dog. "If the three of you come with me we can make quick work of securing the area." She offered, waiting for them to all nod, grunt, or grimace their acceptance of the proposal and move to find their weapons before turning to Glenn.

Quinn dropped a hand on his good shoulder, squeezing lightly "Could you keep watch? You're arms still kinda gimpy so it's safest. There's some binos hanging off that empty chair on the RV. Use them and yell if you see any dangerous shit coming to eat us. Sound good?"

"Yeah, boss." The kid responded with a smile, realizing that they had all just been artfully commanded into action. First morning with the Dixon brothers and Quinn had them following orders. Amazing. He crawled up the ladder carefully, so as not to injure himself further. Plopping down in the chair and placing the binoculars around his neck, he watched the small unit move toward the fallen bodies.

The quartet moved cautiously down the road, bodies of the dispatched dead very near now. Each had their quietest weapon up and ready. Senses sharp as they scanned the bordering trees and brush line.

They split into pairs once they reached shot corpses, figuring it the best strategy as only Daryl and Quinn had distance weapons they would need to cover the other two. A crossbow and a silenced pistol. Not exactly an artillery squad but they would have to do. A nod passed between the sailor and the hunter, blue eyes reflecting blue. _Don't be stupid._

Quinn fanned out one direction with Merle, and Daryl pulled T-dog to the opposite. The sailor felt to the vet fall in step over her shoulder, his large hunting knife shielding her right side as she covered his left with crossed gun and knife. They crept forward, senses alert for any disturbances.

After a few minutes of vigilantly treading forward through the maze of trees and shrubbery, Merle nudged the sailor's elbow, his eyes squinting through the trees on his right. "There' sumthin' there. Sounds like sumthin' moving."

They both froze, crouching slightly. Quinn's gun trained in the pointed direction.

There was a soft rustle of leaves from the direction the graying vet had gestured, but it sounded small, maybe a squirrel. But the SEAL kept her focus on the spot; her gut telling her there was something else. Listening carefully.

Remembering what the weight of the strap that lay across her body held, Quinn slid her rifle from her back and brought it to the ready. She peered through the scope toward the offending sounds, carefully adjusting the focus dial to the correct distance.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," She rasped, the hoarse sound dripping with disdain. Her freckled face a mask of annoyance the sailor turned to the vet and scoffed "It's the deputy and that thin brunette woman."

Merle shot her a very confused look, so she passed over her rifle and let him glance through the scope for a moment. She rolled her eyes and tugged the rifle away when his face broke into a toothy grin. "Knock it off, sailor."

"Tryin' ta, Commander," Merle chuckled in response. The smile didn't fade, but he looked away from the offending pair and followed Quinn as she retraced their steps.

She led them easily back towards the road, gun and knives up and ready in their hands. Keeping the vet amused with her grumbling about their find, "I guess this is what he meant when he said he always does the last watch shift... five hours without a proper watchman. Fuckers could have been bitten and then we'd have two naked ass corpses to deal with." She shook her head, thoroughly irritated.

"Think about how that poor kid would have seen his dead mother… what the hell, man." The sailor ranted to the vet, caught up in the irresponsibility of it all. If you can't wait for a tent or something at least have the sense do it in a tree so the dead can't reach you.

Merle just laughed at her side, eyes crinkling in a way that made him appear softer as he did. Thoroughly amused by the sailor's ranting, and the way her blue eyes turned hard as steel when she talked about the idiocy of the situation. Made her look down right terrifying. He hoped for a confrontation with the deputy, it would be nice to see the man's pride beaten down. _Hooyah, Go Navy._

A familiar chirping whistle caught their attention as they neared the gravel road, the noise emanating from where the other pair had disappeared when they split.

Quinn quickened her pace and headed toward the sound, dark brows creased in concern.

"That's Daryl's 'come'n see this' whistle," Merle said from his place at the sailor's shoulder, "Thought 't was 'im this mornin'."

The sailor hummed in response. That explained the confusion on the graying man's tired face when he had first seen her that morning. It's rare that folks use similar whistle calls, as they're unique in each mouth. Or at least that's what her Alaskan relatives had believed when they passed down the stories of famous calls to her and her brother. _Wes._

She would ask the hunter about it sometime when there was a quiet moment.

They found the other half of their quartet after hurriedly searching through the dense trees until they stumbled upon a little clearing.

The two men were staring at an abandoned camping site in silence.

T-dog stood behind Daryl, one hand rubbing his bald head with bewilderment as he watched the hunter prod at different things in the site with his blue eyes drawn tight as they analyzed. Both of their faces showed similar states of confusion and concern.

The scene told a confusing tale. The campsite looked untouched, with the exception of a camp chair being knocked over. Stove, table, canopy, and dishware all perfectly in place. There was no blood, or broken objects, which there should have been if corpses had attacked the camp.

The tent was the only thing odd; it looked as if an animal had viciously clawed its way inside. The door panel was ripped wide open in the middle. The tattered material stained with what looked like bloody scratch marks from human hands. Inside were three sleeping bags and a scattering of used needles _._


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

"Maybe 't was on th' face er neck?"

Four pairs of feet stood around the trio of corpses on the quarry road. A fog of confusion hung around them as they scanned carefully over each of the bodies, trying to see traces of a bite mark or scratch anywhere.

"We'll never know for sure cause the rifle shots obliterated that whole area," T-dog responded to Daryl's inquiry, watching as the bowman kicked at the nearest body with one of his dirty boots. "Damn, I never wanna be shot by one of those rounds." T continued with a glance at the rifle hanging across the back of their newest companion.

She was glaring down at the bodies, dark brows pulled together and mouth turned down in a small frown. The sailor's mind was whirling, trying to piece together the puzzle they had stumbled across.

These corpses hadn't had bite marks on their face or neck, she knew, having seen them clearly while tracing them through her scope. The bodies had been near- pristine, the only sign that they were amongst the living dead had been their glazed eyes, deathly pale skin, and shuffling gate. But the sailor knew she couldn't prove that to the others, and the theory she was forming would require definitive proof for people to believe her.

 _Well this complicates things._ Blue eyes searching the face of each of the men around her, Quinn looked for expressions of realization. Hoping that one of them had reached a similar conclusion.

T was staring at the sky now, nose scrunched in disgust, the smell and gore of the bodies too much for him to spare much thought towards the puzzle.

At his side, Merle had his arms crossed at his chest and an eyebrow cocked at the scene, or more likely at the way his sibling was now poking at the corpses with his hunting knife. His mouth was pulled up in a small smirk. Definitely more amused with his brother than concerned about the dead. Leaving said man poking the bodies with his knife to be her only hope.

Daryl was crouched near what had once been the face of one of the corpses, his ice blue eyes analyzing carefully. Looking for signs of teeth marks in the torn flesh, and finding none. _Fuck._ He glanced up at the woman on his side, reading the same conclusion on her freckled face when she met his eyes. _Double fuck._ They raised their eyebrows at each other.

"We should burn the bodies." Quinn rasped. Three heads bobbed in response.

The camp was bustling with activity when the quartet returned. People gathered around the cooking fire as Dale made something that looked like porridge for breakfast. Light conversations floating through the air.

Lori and Shane were the only people not present. A fact both the sailor and vet immediately noticed.

Quinn rolled her eyes, reminded again of the lack of a watchman the previous night. She spotted little pale Carl on top of the RV chatting animatedly with Glenn, the kid didn't seem concerned with the disappearance of his mother and male guardian. Must be a common occurrence, the sailor thought, face darkening into a scowl.

Catching her expression, Merle guffawed and socked the young officer in the shoulder, "Yer gonna scare the shit outta the kid glarin' like that, Commander."

Sighing, the sailor dropped her scowl; "Maybe then he'll go looking for his madre and find them mid session. Might kill their libido and get us an actual guard on duty…" she murmured to the vet, rubbing her forehead with a small hand and moving towards the RV. His gruff laughter echoing in her wake.

Glenn and Carl greeted her with wide smiles when she peered up at them from the ground. Hand shielding her eyes from the now brutal sun. "How's it hangin boys?"

The pale brunette child excitedly explained to her that he was helping Glenn keep watch; he even was using the binoculars to look for danger! Carl's pleased little face made Quinn's grin spread wide, dimple clearly showing, as he waved the lenses around for emphasis. What an adorable kid.

With a little coaxing she was able to convince Carl to descend from the RV and get some breakfast. Since his mother wasn't present to make him eat.

Dale had finished the porridge and was serving out the mushy substance with a smile in the warming morning air.

Quinn took the boy's place at Glenn's side atop the RV. Lying back on the warm roof, brown ponytail pooling around her head, the SEAL let her eyes drift to the clear blue sky.

They stayed like that for almost an hour. Glenn reclining in the watch chair deep in his own thoughts, and Quinn staring up at the sky while she listened to the conversations of the folks milling about below them. Both enjoying the bright morning sun and a comfortable silence.

A fist banging on the side of the RV brought them out of their daze. Glenn nearly fell out of his chair with a start. It was Andrea, the pretty blonde lawyer. "Come get some breakfast before Carl eats it all!" She called up to them; "T is coming over to relieve your watch in a minute or two!"

Quinn heard the small boy respond with an "I'm not!" and snorted from her spot on the roof. "Thanks, Andrea. We'll pop over soon," The sailor called down to the woman in her rasp.

Before the two headed down, Quinn talked Glenn through what had happened on the scouting mission. He was her closest friend in this new setting and she wanted him to know her theory, even if he didn't yet believe it.

T-dog strolled over eventually and beckoned them down, ready to do his own shift on the RV. Quinn exchanged a smile with him as she and Glenn descended the RV, glad that most people seemed to be taking the concept of a watch seriously.

She glanced over at the group who was sitting and eating breakfast, her blue eyes finding both the deputy and Lori amongst them. Sitting on either side of Carl, they listened to the boy relay an excited story about pizza delivering that Glenn must have told him.

"And you're sure they didn't have bite marks?" The young Korean asked for the fourth time, breaking through her thoughts as the pair approached the rest of the group, his brown eyes wide with concern.

"Positive," the sailor responded. "Like I said, I would have seen them through my scope if there were any on the face or neck." She pulled her hair out of its ponytail as they walked, shaking her head and letting the brown waves to cascade down her back. Allowing her scalp a moment to breathe before she whipped her hair back up in another high tail.

Glenn rubbed his hands together with nervous energy, uneasy about this new theory. "Well fuck that," he murmured to her as they both spooned themselves bowls of porridge and joined the main group who were sitting and eating.

Quinn noticed it was void of the two brothers. They seemed to avoid interacting with the group as a whole, shunned for their harsh speaking style and appearance. The sailor frowned at the thought, quietly pondering the concepts of prejudice in an apocalyptic setting from her seat beside Glenn.

The sailor remained mostly silent throughout the day.

Keeping to herself, content to listen and absorb the way the dynamics of this group seemed to function. She busied herself with sorting her ammunition in the back of her car, and toting the varieties she couldn't use into the RV. Mostly boxes of shotgun shells. She had entirely too much extra ammo in her car and excess weight would be an issue with the Subaru's gas mileage. The stack of boxes holding 0.50 caliber rounds was already a damned heavy but necessary burden on the vehicle.

At least for now, the sailor thought, when she eyed her second gun-bag on a trip back from the RV.

It held a smaller rifle, her prize for a particularly dicey mission she had successfully pulled off. The mission that had bumped her from Lieutenant to Lieutenant Commander. Not the same ability to destroy as her larger rifle, and not the same familiar balance, but she loved it anyway. It was a 0.30 caliber with a snow-camo wrap, a lightweight rifle that was both deadly accurate with its laser scope and easy to carry. She remembered running many miles through the snow with that weapon in her hands.

Maybe she was too sentimental to use it quite yet. That mission in the snow still too fresh.

Quinn was at one point drawn out of her solitude into a conversation with Andrea and Amy about fishing. The two called her over to where they sat under the shade of the trees when she was walking back towards her car, asking her about fishing in Alaska.

"Is it really like all those shows said? It is that dangerous _?!"_ They asked, with expressions full curiosity.

Raspy laugh echoing across the camp, Quinn explained that while she herself had never been on one of the dangerous fishing missions that TV producers loved to film, her brother had done his stint at sea. She described how Wes paid his way through medical school by doing three seasons on ship, almost dying more then once. _Damn dangerous gig._

"But the money was great, so he just kept going back out. I was so happy when he got his med school acceptance letter, meant I'd stop getting worried calls from my mom about how Wesley was trying to get himself killed again," the sailor said with a chuckle before turning the subject back to the sisters, asking about their own experiences.

She enjoyed the sisters' varying styles as they spoke about the proper process of fishing, each in their own way. They valued the task so differently because of how their father had taught them. It was a fascinating parenting strategy and an enlightening view into how their brains worked, the sailor thought as she listened keenly, her freckled face holding a soft smile.

Andrea was a provider, always looking after people, and her baby sister Amy was a lover of life, valuing every aspect of it. The sailor decided she liked the pair of blondes. This was the time for feisty women like Andrea and Amy to flourish.

She left the pair when they began to reminisce about their family. Wandering towards Glenn to deal with his shoulder. Not wanting to intrude on fond memories between siblings.

 _Wes…_ Quinn missed her brother dearly; the thought of his shaggy blonde head nearly brought the steely woman to tears. Nearly. _Pull yourself together, sailor. This shit won't break you._

The evening was a cool contrast to the sunny humidity of the day. And as the sun sank the little camp began to gather around a small fire, drawn to the radiating warmth and prospect of food.

Daryl and Merle had emerged from the woods late in the afternoon.

The younger, toting his crossbow as always, had been carrying a long string of freshly hunted squirrels. He had donated them to the dinner pot with a grunt and a nod to Lori and Jacqui who were cooking that night, before following his brother back to their tent. The pair sat comfortably in each other's presence, smoking and conversing in low gravelly tones about the events of the morning.

The smell of food drifting through the newly evening air finally roused them from their relaxed exchange.

Both Dixons rose and moved towards the scent and the crowd that was forming around the fire, steeling themselves to be amidst the company again. Both secretly grateful for the newest addition and the bridge she seemed to form between them and the rest. Someone relatable.

Merle looked toward the black Subaru, pondering its owner. An ally indeed. With an undeniable grit that rivaled their own, but somehow still approachable for the others in camp. But that's what a serviceman was supposed to be, Merle thought, minding rolling over memories of his time in uniform. A time when he himself could even have been approachable. _To an extent._

Arguing voices coming from the outskirts of the camp stopped them in their tracks.

The smells wafting over from by the fire forgotten as curiosity captured them both. Daryl's sharp senses pinpointed the sound and he waved his brother in the correct direction, moving quietly forward. Crossbow up.

"No. You listen," came a familiar rasping alto, tone sharp as a knife's edge, "There will be no argument, deputy. I don't give a fuck what you were doing. So don't feed me excuses like a guilty child. You're missing the god damn point."

Her voice then quieted back into indistinguishable sounds, melding into Shane's so neither Dixon could make out the exchange.

Merle froze, throwing an arm out to stay his brother's path. "We shouldn interrupt tha' yet," he muttered to the younger man.

Daryl's eyebrows shot up as he glanced at his brother in confusion, but he stood still behind the arm. Blue eyes darting towards the sounds of the Commander's voice as her volume rose loud enough for the pair to hear again.

"There will be times when you have to follow without question. Are you capable of that? I can't afford another head to protect here, Shane. I need you to have my back. I need you to listen if I tell you to run, or to fire, or to hit the ground. Do you understand?" She paused.

The brothers had to strain to hear the deputy's harshly whispered response, "These are my people. My responsibility." The man was too proud to so easily let another share his burden, much less a woman.

"This isn't small town law enforcement political bullshit, Shane; this is letting me help you keep these people _alive_. Let me do my job. Before they're all dead because you're too fucking proud to listen to a woman." Quinn's voice growled, the sound almost feral.

Merle dropped his arm that barred his sibling, "Now we interrupt," he whispered. The hunter nodded and resumed moving towards the argument, bare arms at his side, no longer feeling the need to have his crossbow raised and ready.

"Dinner's ready folks!" The vet called out, face in a toothy yellowed grin as he finally set eyes on the pair, interrupting any response Shane may have had.

They were standing in front of the deputy's jeep, which was neatly hidden from the view of the group by the front of the RV. The deputy himself was standing with his hands clasped behind his back, head lowered, and eyes glaring at the ground. An act of submission to the fearsome figure before him.

This was Lieutenant Commander Lee in full tilt officer mode, Merle thought as he took in the woman's stance.

Hands on hips, posture straight and commanding as she scowled fiercely at the man in front of her. Blue eyes flashing with authority. It was a stance that he had been faced with many times during his service, and yet still he had to fight the need to drop his eyes to the ground when the Commander's gaze shifted to him.

Quinn's face softened immediately when she looked towards the interrupting brothers. Allowing her body to relax out of its imposing stance as she greeted them, a small smile forming on her freckled face, "Gentlemen."

The deputy took the interruption as a chance to escape, nodding once to the sailor he quickly scuttled away towards Lori and the fire. Ignoring the two rednecks entirely, even as Daryl glared daggers at his retreating figure.

The hunter crossed his bare muscled arms across his chest. _Coward._

Merle clapped the sailor on the back with a callused hand, chuckling as he took in the change in the woman's persona. With the drop of a hat she was calm and collected, no traces of the ferocious authority that had burned in her eyes only moments before.

"Shoulda figured ya were goin' ta chew inta him eventually, sailor," The vet said as he gestured at the back of the man now seated at the fire.

Shoulders rising in a shrug, the sailor flipped her long ponytail over her back and looked between the two men, "One can only stem rage for so long, you know" she replied with a smirk on her lips. Knowing it wouldn't be the last time she and Shane would go at it.

At least the proud man had accepted her help with the early morning watch. She would relieve him of that duty, not trusting the deputy to refrain from running off into the woods with his thin little woman.

The trio headed toward the gathering of people eating dinner, the sailor inquiring about the brothers' hunting trip as they walked. Keen to understand the attachment between the younger sibling and the crossbow he constantly gripped in his strong hands. It was an unusual weapon, albeit perfect for this apocalypse, and he handled it with such familiarity.

Quinn kept to the company of the Dixons for the remainder of the evening. Her stable presence between them softening the repelling affect that they seemed to have on the rest of the group. Allowing the survivors to have a pleasant meal around the fire, light conversations floating about amicably.

With the fire long burnt out, and the rest of the camp asleep, the starry night found three people on top of the RV.

It was Merle's turn to do the night watch; the grizzled man was seated in the guard chair with his handgun on his lap. His voice rumbling quietly through the air as he spoke to his companions, telling a story from his time in the Navy.

"My C.O. got inta this fight with an Army guy, big ole guy, and we was all new 'n fresh outta bootcamp so we din't know wha' ta do. So when the soldier hit our Lieutenant, we jus let 'im have it. In our best unis jus throwin' punches left 'n right… 'Least we were loyal though right?" The man smiled at the memory as soft feminine laughter and a gruffly snorted chuckle met his ears.

Daryl and Quinn were sprawled on either side of the canvas guard chair, their blue eyes on the starry scene above them as they listened to Merle's low voice.

Daryl fiddled with his crossbow that lay on his chest; trying to remember the last time his brother had told him Navy stories. It had been years, the hunter thought, definitely before the man had turned as heavily to narcotics. A sober Merle, still crude and rough, but with a sharp wit and an even temper. _Somewhat even._

"Yer turn Commander, tell us about that burn mark ya got on yer arm. I gotta theory, but I want ta hear the story." The vet said when the people lying at his sides quieted their laughter.

Both Dixon's had noticed the burned flesh that stood out against the freckled skin of the sailor's upper arm.

It had been a topic of discussion while they had reclined in front of their tent after the hunt. Although they had only caught small glimpses of it, as the sleeve of her t-shirt mostly covered it, they noticed the burn looked to be in too purposeful a shape to be from an accident.

An eagle gripping a trident and musket around an anchor. If they weren't mistaken.

Quinn's hand drifted to her upper arm, feeling the raised scar tissue that rested there.

An old mark, long healed, but still red and angry in appearance. She could practically hear her mother's voice complaining about the large ugly mark 'my baby's perfect skin, ruined!'.

"It's a brand." The sailor rasped after a pause, "The SEAL Trident."

The sailor let her mind wander to a time when she was fresh out of the Academy, full of inextinguishable energy after successfully completing the rigorous training to become a part of Special Naval Warfare.

"I've always been in a particularly reckless group of sailors," she explained to the brothers, "In one way it has always made us the best at our job, and in another it led us to a lot of stupid ideas. These brands were one of those stupid ideas, a way to prove we were the toughest motherfuckers in the Navy. It was early in my career, fresh outta SEAL training." She laughed and sat up, pulling up her left sleeve so that the men could see the raised scar.

Merle murmured, "Told ya it was tha Trident," to his brother as the hunter pushed himself into a seated position with a strong arm. Their eyes traced over the large symbol, taking in its raised red tissue and the contrast it played with the rest of the woman's skin.

"Din't tha hurt? Scaldin' metal on yer skin?" Daryl asked as he reached across his brother's legs to run a finger gently over the scar, his brows furrowed as he examined it. The skin was rough under his touch, the feeling of scar tissue familiar.

The sailor met his gaze as he pulled away from her skin, her blue eyes unreadable, "The smell distracted from that. I've never been one for the scent of burning flesh."

Merle let out a low whistle, shaking his head in the darkness. "Always knew ya damn SEALs were fuckin' insane. Now I got ma proof," He said quietly to pair at his sides.

"Ya'll should go ta sleep, ole Merle will holler if he hears trouble," he continued with a kick at each of their legs.

Quinn nodded her acceptance and followed Daryl's lead as the man's lean form slid off the top of the RV to land quietly on his feet in the dark grass below.

The sailor made to walk towards the sleeping bag that was calling to her from inside her Subaru, finally realizing her level of exhaustion, but was stopped by a firm hand on her arm.

She dropped a hand on the hilt of one of the knives at her back, ready to strike, when the hunters voice sounded from behind her.

"Easy, girl," He whispered, ice blue eyes roaming from the hilt of the knife she held to her expression of confusion as she turned to face him. "I gotta favor to ask you," he continued as he led her out of earshot of the veteran.

Once they stood still again the pair faced each other, blue eyes meeting blue, both silent and analyzing.

Quinn waited for the man to speak, her eyebrow cocked in curiosity as she examined his face. Beginnings of a beard covered his chin below the lip he was chewing in agitation.

"Spit it out." The sailor rasped when she felt her body start to give in to exhaustion, mind on her fluffy sleeping bag.

"I'm goin' huntin' tomorrow. Tryna find a deer, may be gone a day or more." He began; bringing the hand that didn't hold a crossbow up to rub the back of his head, further mussing his already disheveled hair.

"Alright…" the sailor responded, crossing her freckled arms across her chest, forehead crinkling in confusion. "What do you want me to do?" She asked, trying to gauge what hunting related help he, a professional hunter, could possibly need.

"D'ya think ya could keep everyone from killin' Merle? He's been better with you aroun' but I'm worried he'll say something stupid while I'm gone." The hunter said very quietly in his gravely voice, embarrassed to be asking for help with his own blood. "He might take some shit 'n get high, then you might be the only person 'sides me who can shut 'im up."

Quinn nodded along as he spoke, brown ponytail bobbing behind her, honored to be trusted by such a remarkably closed off man within such a short period of time. She figured his brother's open and full acceptance of her had been the deciding factor.

"I'll keep him in line," she replied, holding her forearm up to him, "I got your back, ace."

The hunter's blue eyes flashed with relief as he inclined his head in gratitude, bumping his muscled forearm arm against the sailor's.

A salute between friends.

* * *

Expect action next chapter! Thanks for reading. - GC


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this world, just my OC collection. Bless 'em.

* * *

Dead weight pressed down upon broad sweaty shoulders, intensifying the already sweltering heat of the late afternoon like a musty fur shawl.

The coat of the deer that hung about him irritated the hunter's neck, adding to his general state of discomfort. With no free hand to relieve the itch, the man released his frustration in the form of a long colorful string of curses. It wasn't nearly as satisfying, he thought, as he shifted the animal slightly.

Daryl had departed camp before the sun had climbed above the horizon, crossbow in hand, determined to bring back something bigger than squirrels. Knowing that if he were unsuccessful that the next run into the city would have to come sooner, and the risk of death would be closer to them again.

The only other soul awake when he had crept away into his hunt had been the sailor girl.

The early hour had found her lying on the roof of the RV with her sizeable rifle balanced between her hands, acting as the camp's final guard before daybreak. The weapon had been his only means of recognizing her, as the black hood of a jacket had been pulled up over her head, and an intricately patterned blue scarf wrapped around her face and neck, obscuring her freckled features. A defense against the chilled air.

They had exchanged a nod in the dark silence of the early morning, and he felt her soft blue eyes follow him until he was deep into the trees, guarding his back through her scope.

It had taken him nearly all day to track the deer he now carried, stalking silently through the dense forest with careful eyes on the signs of its path. Deer were timid creatures, easily spooked, so he knew to be patient. Patience was his specialty.

Broken twigs, displaced leaves and half eaten plants eventually led him to his prize, bringing it down with a single bolt when he finally glimpsed the creature.

A young buck, not as large as the hunter had hoped, but still carrying enough meat for a meal or two. With no truck nearby or hunting partner, Daryl had resigned himself to carry the animal back out of the forest. Knowing fully that he was miles from the camp, and that the damn animal would be awkward as hell to tote around on his shoulders. _They better fuckin appreciate this._

There were no signs of the living dead throughout his whole excursion. Which was surprising. Daryl figured that the corpses would begin to wander away from abandoned cities soon, hunger driving them to search for fresh prey. Eventually they would stumble towards their little camp.

He quickened his tired gait when the sounds of said camp became audible. Drifting through the trees, interrupting his thoughtful solitude.

No one paid him much mind when he broke through the tree line, busying themselves with their menial tasks to avoid the ice blue eyes of the rough looking man.

Laundry, fixing the constantly broken RV, and discussing plots for future supply runs seemed to be on the itinerary for the day.

The hunter narrowed his eyes at a trio of men huddled around the front of Shane's jeep. The plotters. The deputy, Morales, and T-dog.

They hadn't even so much as looked up when he strode by them to slide the deer off of his shoulders into the back of his pickup to be later dealt with. And now that he pondered group, Daryl realized that it was missing the one kid crucial to planning supply runs. _Where's tha lil chinaman?_ He shook his head in disbelief; the deputy was an idiot. The nerve a person had to have to send a lone man into danger without even allowing them to participate in the planning.

Daryl didn't spot his brother amongst any of the task groups, not an overly surprising discovery, but still somewhat concerning. The man could be getting high somewhere, about to cause trouble for his little sibling. _Damnit Merle._

Dirt covered shoes cut a quick path through the grassy camp, headed towards the black Subaru.

The sailor would know where to find the grizzled redneck, Daryl decided. After all she had agreed to watch the man's back for him, and those soft blue eyes didn't strike the hunter as dishonest. He didn't know much about military practice, but he knew an honorable person when he saw one. His keen senses always aware of the slight tells a person may have, allowing him to read intent like a trail in the leaves.

Gruff laughter echoing from where the back hatch of the vehicle stood open informed him of his brother's presence.

The graying man was reclined in a canvas camp chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips facing the back of the Subaru, chuckling at the antics of Glenn and Carl who lay in the grass at the side of the vehicle.

The young Korean appeared to be trying to teach Carl how to play some card game. Maybe poker. The little pale boy looked both interested and frustrated as he attempted to follow along.

Daryl was thrown slightly off guard by the scene as he approached Merle's side; his brother wasn't generally one to tolerate being in the presence of a child. But, when the hunter spotted the sailor perched in the back of the car opposite Merle, sharpening one of her large combat knives, it made a little more sense.

Quinn heard the soft footfalls of the younger Dixon as he neared. Glancing up from her knife she allowed her gaze to roam his body. Reading the signs of his hunt. Ice blue eyes pierced her own for a moment before diverting to Merle, the mouth beneath them pulled into a very slight smirk. Sweat had soaked thoroughly through his sleeveless shirt, particularly about his shoulders, the fabric there darker than the rest. He must have been carrying something.

"Success?" the sailor asked, knowing the answer.

Her words roused Merle to the presence of his brother. The vet turned to him with a yellowing grin, calling, "Darlene! Yer back from tha woods already!" in his low voice. "Ya brin' us dinner?"

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother's words, but the smirk on his lips grew. "Snagged a buck," he said proudly with a gesture over his shoulder at the blue pickup.

"Well ain't that the best shit we've 'eard all day." Merle replied, leaning back into his chair and taking a long drag from his cigarette. Content.

The deer had to be skinned and cleaned before the meat could be cut, cooked and added to the meal, leaving Daryl with plenty of work to do in a fairly short amount of time. He worked with the animal lain across the tailgate of his truck, hands moving with dexterity through the familiar process.

His brother hovered near him, providing silent company throughout his task as the veteran tinkered with his motorcycle.

Across the camp three figures gathered, heads together in discussion.

"Why so soon?" sounded Quinn's rasp. The woman's dark brows were furrowed in confusion as she scanned the face of the deputy. Looking for an explanation in the slight frown he wore.

Glenn stood at her side, silent, his eyes growing larger throughout the conversation between Quinn and Shane. Their brown depths waging a war between paralyzing fear and the insatiable courage that would always win in the end. No matter how stupid the feat.

It had only been a couple days since Glenn stared death in the face, and here was the deputy requesting that he did it again. Tomorrow.

"An animal got into our boxed food supply last night, our stocks are almost totally gone." Shane responded in a hushed tone so as not to alert the others of the problem, his eyes flicking between the sailor and the young man at her side, almost pleading. "If the redneck hadn't shot that deer today we would be in a serious predicament. But as it stands, the run can wait until tomorrow. We'll be nearly out by the end of the week."

Hands clasped behind her neck, the sailor let out a frustrated sigh as she looked up at the Georgia sky. Pondering their options.

The sun was starting to drop towards the ground, warm colors beginning to appear. It would be another beautiful sunset.

Glenn had already decided he would go, she could see it in his eyes the moment courageousness set in. So Quinn would as well, unwilling to leave her friend's back unguarded. Especially sense the last time he went on a supply run he had needed to be pulled out of a dead-end.

She glanced at him, her blue eyes meeting his brown. Waiting for confirmation. Glenn slowly nodded to her, taking his hat off and running a hand through his hair nervously as he did so. _So be it._

The SEAL offered a callused hand to Shane, showing her acceptance, "We'll go. But when we come back that food is to be kept in a closed vehicle, no exception. This was pathetically avoidable, deputy." The rasp of her voice cut through the man like a shard of ice. Cold and commanding. _This is the type of petty mistake that can get people killed._

Shane's large hand took hers and shook, head bowed in acceptance of her words. "Thank you, both of you," he muttered still cautious of eavesdroppers, eyes averted from the sailor.

He held out a map to her, on it Quinn could see circles in red ink. Most likely locations of grocery stores, the sailor thought as she took the piece of paper.

"We've circled the locations most likely to have large amounts of boxed and canned food." The deputy said with a nod to the map, before turning on his heel and striding away. Leaving the runners to plan their path through the death trap they had only just escaped.

The sailor and the delivery boy were noticeably quiet at the dinner gathering that night.

Glenn sat beside Amy. He had always liked the pretty young blonde, and her positive energy was a comfort on the young Korean's mind. She was animatedly telling him a story about some college party she had been to, ignorant to the way he only half listened as he nodded along. His hands wringing together in his lap.

The sailor was staring at her feet, examining the stitching of her black combat boots while her fingers fiddled mindlessly with the blue scarf that hung about her neck. Her thoughts on plans for the following day.

She started slightly when a plate of food was thrust into her gaze.

She followed the large dirty hand holding the plate up a bare muscled arm with her eyes, finding Daryl's face above her. He had an eyebrow cocked, and his piercing eyes seemed to be reading her thoughts as they bore into her own. His perception ability was uncanny.

Quinn took the plate. Face tingeing slightly pink across her freckled features, embarrassed that she had been so easily snuck up on.

"Spit it out." He growled as he dropped to sit by her side. Using her words against her.

Before she could make any effort to answer, Merle wandered over to them and sat on her other side, effectively bookending her with Dixons. The two gruff men stared in at her, their eyes analyzing.

Quinn sighed and stretched her long legs out in front of her; feeling trapped by the way her thoughts circled dangerous scenarios she and Glenn may face the next day. "We're going on a run tomorrow," she explained just loud enough for only the brothers to hear, "There's an issue with the food supply."

She could feel them both stiffen at her words.

The graying vet let out a low whistle at her side, shaking his head. "Squirrels I'll bet, them idiots ain't got no idea how ta keep food safe. Been keepin' it outside the tent in plastic bags, fuckin' ridiculous," he muttered through gritted teeth.

He and Daryl had tried to explain to the deputy the proper way to lock away food when camping, to no avail. The man refused to listen to people he thought below him, keen to ignore the advice of a pair of dirty rednecks. _Damn him._

The sailor confirmed his suspicion with a pursed lip grimace before turning to her attention to the plate of venison in her hand. She made quick work of the meat, not realizing she had been starving until she smelled the plate Daryl had shoved under her nose.

Prodding the hunter at her side with a sharp elbow, she rasped, "You saved us from having to leave immediately." Gesturing at the crossbow at his side to clarify her point.

He grumbled something unintelligible, sharp eyes glaring across the circle of survivors. The deputy squirmed under his gaze. This wasn't what Daryl had in mind when he had hoped his catch could put off the next supply run. One day was not enough.

* * *

They had left in Quinn's Subaru at dawn. Only the Dixon brothers had been awake to see them off in the soft light. Uncharacteristically concerned with the life of the one of their group.

Merle had pulled her into a bro-hug, his low voice gruff with sleepiness as he spoke, "Two days. Ya 'ave two days 'n then we come getcha. Don't give a fuck what that deputy says, ain't leavin' a sailor in that shithole. So don't go 'n die."

Quinn knew she had mumbled something reassuring to him as he released her, but she couldn't remember what. The events of the day had fogged her memory.

Daryl had offered her his forearm, mirroring the gesture she had made to him in a stoic sign of camaraderie. Remaining silent, as the sailor had tapped her arm against his.

Quinn shook her tired head, pulling herself out of her brief redneck related reverie and back to the task at hand.

Her back was against the cool concrete of a windowless wall, the only light in the room either spilled through a vent in the ceiling or through the crack under the double doors across from her.

The doors that were moving. Bending against their hinges, straining against the thick metal crowbar that was jammed between the handles to keep them shut.

At her side she could hear Glenn's quick breathing. Feel him jump slightly every time the doors strained. But she kept her blue eyes locked on the crowbar threatening to give way to the dozens of tiny dead hands that pushed hungrily against the barrier, looking at nothing else for fear her gaze was the only thing holding them at bay.

They were in the kitchen of what had seemed to be an abandoned city elementary school. This location had been their final trip to make before heading back to the quarry, having made quick work of three food-laden journeys to the Subaru and back.

The deputy had decided on the school as one of the supply locations due to its place near the outskirts of the city. A quick run from where one could park a car off of the highway. Like all schools, it had a cafeteria so Shane figured there would be plenty of uncooked dry food to gather from its kitchen.

They hadn't had any problems with the other locations, all convenience stores, only encountering small clusters of corpses that were easily taken down with knives and silenced shots.

But the dead had been waiting in this school.

Quinn and Glenn had broken a window to get in, climbing through into an empty classroom full of tiny desks. Heading in the direction they had assumed was towards the kitchen.

They had found the cafeteria locked when they came to the door, forcing them to again break a window.

Quinn had reached her hand through the cracked glass and unlocked the door, silenced handgun raised and ready as the two darted towards the double doors across the cafeteria that hid the kitchen.

They made it most of the way across the large room before shuffling footsteps had alerted them to their tail.

Glenn let out a quiet yelp of fear, glancing to Quinn and finding her blue eyes flashing with worry as she had grabbed his arm and pulled him quickly towards the double doors of the kitchen.

Children. Dead children.

Dozens of them were pouring into the room behind the pair, their hungry groans higher pitched in a reflection of the young people they had once been. Small arms reaching out toward their prey, as dead eyes roamed blindly. Drawn by the sounds of breaking glass in the silent school.

Quinn had slammed the doors shut behind them and grabbed the crowbar her companion toted as a weapon and slid it through the handles of the doors like a lock. Just as tiny hands began to push against the barrier.

The doors gave a particularly aggressive rattle, the crowbar threating to fall out of place, making Glenn grab the sailor's shoulder in fear. His knuckles white. Tiny bloody fingers reached through the crack between the doors, their owner's groans echoing in the ears of the pair backed against the concrete wall.

Blue eyes scanned the room with perceptive care, searching for any means of escape. The ceiling vent was too small for a person to crawl through, the metal opening barely the width of a head. There were no other openings to the outside, or exits from the kitchen besides the double doors, which Quinn briefly thought must be some sort of fire code violation. She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder, accepting that only available escape lay ahead.

More sets of fingers were now reaching around the edges of the barrier.

"Do you trust me, kid?" Quinn rasped to her companion. Voice calm, blue eyes cut in a fierce glare at the doors before them.

The young man muttered, "yes," from her side, voice barely audible. His grip on her shoulder tightening.

She would not die with her back against a wall, waiting for tiny mouths to devour her. She was a SEAL and she would battle all the waves of the ocean with bare fists before she accepted such a pitiful fate.

Pulling three extra clips from the back pocket of her jeans, Quinn thrust her handgun into Glenn's grasp. He accepted the weapon, holding it up and ready. Reading the sailor's plan in her soft blue eyes. _Fuck._

She drew her combat knives from their place at her back and met his brown eyes, "Stay on my shoulder. Shoot everything that attacks. Do not stop moving forward."

Three simple orders.

A black boot swung through the air, kicking the crowbar out of the doors' handles and allowing the swarm of dead youth to tumble towards them.

The soft pips of the handgun firing at her side reassured Quinn that Glenn stayed with her as she forced her way through the crowd of shoulder high monsters. Her knives thrusting in and out of small skulls, splattering blood across her shirt and arms as her movements increased in speed. A flash of sharp metal and strong arms.

There had been a mission once, before she was in command, where she had slashed her way through a bunker with her faithful knives, six men at her side as they cleansed the building of the enemy.

She remembered forcing down her disgust as human blood had run down her arms, assuring herself that it was necessary for the mission. They had been ordered to remove all threats silently, and her C.O. had warned against firearms. Navy SEALs were loyal without question, and so the team killed quickly in a flash of metal and synchronized movements. Burying their humanity for the sake of national security. Trusting the judgment of their commander without fault.

When she had taken a position of command, Quinn had sworn to herself that she would never have her men repeat such a brutality. There was always an option besides outright slaughter. No one under her command would know the feeling of human blood running through their fingers with no validation besides their C.O. thought that method simplest.

A SEAL needed their humanity in tact to be effective. It was too easy to fall into cruelty when given such an arsenal of weapons.

Her hands were shaking as she stared down at them. Blood. They were red, none of her skin visible. As were her arms. Her shirt. Even her face, as she could feel the material caking on her complexion.

She could not shake the memories of children's faces falling under her knives. Of the blood spilling from small bodies as she sliced through the crowd to escape the school. Somewhere in her head she knew that they weren't children any more. That they were flesh-hungry monsters and her actions weren't actually the savage atrocity she was reliving. But she couldn't force herself to accept that yet. Only remembering the blood running down her arms as she stabbed child after child, just like she had to those men in the bunker.

The SEAL brought her hands up to her head, pressing on her temples as she closed her eyes. Trying to calm herself by focusing to the soft breathing of Glenn who slept in the passenger seat of the Subaru next to her. He was alive. Safely locked within the car.

And he was not as red as she was; Quinn had saved him from the brutality by surrendering her firearm. _At least for today._


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Wide eyes and gaping mouths. The soft whimpers of a crying child.

Quinn had expected no less.

She stood off to the side of the gathering of survivors seated in the middle of the camp, having interrupted their lunch with the roar of the Subaru's return. Partially hidden from view by Shane's large form, she quietly talked him through the events of the previous day.

But the sailor could still feel their stares. Feel the fear radiating off the group like heat from a fire.

Glenn lie asleep in the back of her car, curled in her sleeping bag. Head wrapped in her soft blue scarf to block out the outside world. The combination of adrenaline crash and pure exhaustion had been too much for the young man to fight off. He had stumbled out of the passenger seat as soon as the Subaru parked and crawled into the back, ignoring the faces that looked upon him as he pulled the hatchback shut, leaving his friend to explain the situation. To clarify how his skin seemed mostly free of the gore that coated the sailor.

His slumber saved him from the stares and the worried murmurs, and for that Quinn was grateful.

"We can't go in alone like that again," She rasped to the deputy, her blue eyes reflecting the conviction in her tone. Their color a stark contrast to the stains saturating her face, "Next time we have to have a team."

The large man nodded, the concerned grimace on his face set in deep lines as the sailor edged by him and paced toward the direction of the quarry reservoir. Her back straight and head high, not showing the turmoil raging in her mind as young dead faces flashed behind her eyes. The only hint of distress found in the subtle way her bloody hands clenched and unclenched in fists at her sides.

Leaving the deputy to decide how much of the gruesome story to relay to the scared faces at his back.

Combat boots tread over dry and dusty gravel, barely rustling the rocks.

She needed to cleanse herself of that school. Of the memory of lifeless children's eyes, and of blood splattering over her body. Quinn knew to keep her sanity in this apocalypse she had to let it go, she couldn't afford to be paralyzed by anything. No matter how atrocious. People needed her, and would need her to do even more gruesome deeds before the end.

Quinn stopped her stride when she reached the edge of the reservoir, her blue eyes scanning the expanse of clear water as she pulled her gun from its holster and placed it on the rocky shore. Her boots and socks followed, obscuring the firearm from view.

Those choice items temporarily abandoned, she started forward again. Wading into the water until she was fully submerged.

Eyes closed under the surface, the sailor could feel the grime washing from her skin; the stiff itching feeling the dry material gave her body slowly lifting. She pulled the tie from her hair and allowed the mane to float free in the water. The liquid ridding her bit by bit of evidence of the day before.

When her lungs could no longer bare the lack of air, Quinn rose to the surface of the reservoir with a kick of her strong legs. Relaxing her soaked body on the water's surface so that she could float on her back, she stared up at the blue sky of the late afternoon. Brown hair floating around her head like a halo.

She had always loved the water. It was one of the reasons she had been so drawn to the SEALs. A career where her knack for jumping off high things into lakes and oceans would be useful. When the world was punishing on the body, water lessened the weight. The sailor let her mind wander to that river in Alaska where her father had first taught Wes and her how to float on their backs. They had been young, some would say too young, to be in that cold water. But Lee's were of tough stock, and their father had made sure they knew that early on. He had been an exceptionally proud man, that Marine. _Gone too soon._

A man stood on the shore of the reservoir, arms crossed about his chest as he looked out at the floating woman under furrowed brows. He kicked at the gravel in front of him, trying to decide if he should call out to her or just continue his guard.

The hunter had followed the sailor when she strode away from Shane towards the reservoir. Curious about the stains that covered her body and knowing that the deputy was unlikely to give the group the unabridged version of the story, he had wanted to ask her for himself. Daryl did not like to be kept in the dark. Especially not about danger.

But, when he had seen Quinn leave her firearm on the shore and wade into the water until she disappeared, he realized two things. First, that the sailor desperately needed a moment alone with her thoughts, which he would grant her. The state of her appearance told a dark story on its own, so he imagined the tale itself must be worse. And second, that she was vulnerable to attack, her gun abandoned on the gravel. So the hunter had stood and waited, facing away from the water to allow her privacy while he guarded her back. For Merle, he told himself, his brother would not want a fellow sailor to be unnecessarily endangered. _Right?_

When he heard her burst to the surface to breathe the hunter had spun to face the expanse of water. Only to find the woman floating on her back, perfectly still, not having noticed his presence. She looked like some mysterious sea creature, with all that wild hair floating about her freckled face.

Many minutes had ticked by before he could bring himself to disturb her. She looked so serene in the water, such a contrast to the fearsome blood-soaked figure that had leapt out of the Subaru earlier. Daryl let out a chirping whistle from his place on the gravel shore.

The effect was immediate.

Quinn glanced over at the water's edge, her keen eyes taking in the shape of the younger Dixon brother standing by her shoes. His bare arms uncrossing as he met her eyes, bringing them to his sides to shove his hands in his pockets. Waiting for her.

The sailor kicked her way into water she could stand in and then waded towards the shore. Swimming would have been quicker, but she was in no rush to leave her sanctuary. Water cascaded off of her body and hair as she slowly emerged from the reservoir; the long waves of her mane stuck to her face and back as she gathered it in a twist and threw it over her shoulder. The gray t-shirt she wore clung to her body, fully saturated. But at least the material of the shirt and her black jeans looked relatively clean now. And she could still feel her knives strapped against her back, which was reassuring given she had forgone leaving them ashore with her gun. _Optimism, sailor._

Bare feet standing delicately atop the sharp gravel, Quinn cocked a dark eyebrow at the hunter at her side. "You think they might have locked them in there when the relief stations were over run?" She asked, blue eyes searching blue.

She had retold the story for him, every brutal detail. Quinn had left out some things when she relayed the events to Shane, as she did not trust the deputy to handle the information correctly. But she trusted Daryl, knew that the man before her would have made the same calls that she did. Or at least that he would understand. Quinn may not have quite the acute observation ability that the hunter was blessed with, but she knew a like mind when she saw one. _Hard lives breed hard minds_.

"Nothin' else makes sense." The hunter responded, his mind trying to create scenarios where leaving dozens of children locked in a building was the best solution, "You think other buildin's could be like tha? Ain't smart sendin' people in if every locked door is hidin' crowds of them fuckers."

Quinn frowned at the thought, hands wringing the excess water out of her hair as she rasped, "Dunno, ace. Not a pleasant thought. Regardless, I told the deputy that we have to go in ready next time. A full team all armed. Glenn and I could have easily been overpowered, can't risk that shit again."

The man at her side let out a frustrated sigh and locked his hands behind his head, ice blue eyes on the sky. Hoping the sunny expanse would bring him answers.

Quinn sank to pull her shoes and socks back on in the silence, allowing him a moment to think. The rest of her clothing was still fairly soaked, so she knew a trip back to her car for a fresh set would soon be necessary.

Boots tied, she holstered her gun and stood as the hunter's gravelly voice sounded again, "We should go find Merle, he's been a fuckin' pain in my ass since you left. An' he'll wanna hear 'bout this shit too."

He began to move back toward the camp, but then hesitated, his sharp eyes running over the sailor's body. Her clothes were soaked from her mermaid-esque frolic in the water; the material of her t-shirt clung to her torso in a way that made the gruff man feel heat rise in his face. _Well fuck me._

He cursed under his breath at his body's betrayal. Dixons don't blush.

"Maybe you should change first." He mumbled to the woman, resuming his walk and hearing her fall into step at his shoulder. Besides, last thing he needed was Merle saying some crude shit to her and then them losing a fucking valuable ally. _Yeah, that's why._

Quinn was able to extract a change of clothes from her bag and pull them on in the front passenger seat of her Subaru without rousing Glenn. She smiled at his curled form. He still slept peacefully, tucked in the back of the car in her down sleeping bag, her favorite scarf under his head as a pillow. Protected from the Georgia heat by the shade of the trees she'd parked under and the dark tinting of the vehicle's windows.

Fresh undergarments, dry and recently cleaned by Carol blue jeans and her favorite faded Navy t-shirt on her body she headed over towards the Dixons. Leaving her wet clothes hanging on her roof rack.

They were seated on the tailgate of Daryl's old blue truck, reclined against the sides of the bed and taking long drags from a pair of cigarettes. Could have been a vintage Marlboro ad, all that denim and leather.

The sailor chuckled to herself at the thought, the light sound drawing the rednecks' attention as she neared them.

Merle's mouth twitched into a yellowed grin, and after a release of smoke he called out, "Ya look a bit less like the devil incarnate now, Commander."

He was met with a peal of feminine laughter and a snort from his brother as the sailor dropped to sit on a log in front of them. A broad smile gracing her freckled features.

The veteran didn't ask her to retell her story like she had expected.

Either he had guessed the details, or his brother had decided to fill him in before she had wandered over to them. Quinn didn't know which, but she could tell that he knew. There was concern and understanding in the way the wrinkled corners of his eyes squinted at her and the way his mouth settled into a thin smile when he met her gaze. Taking in the haunted memories he saw behind her eyes, and empathizing like only another serviceman could. _Death brings memories of death, and we have been to war._

He only asked one question, his gray eyes revealing his curiosity beneath furrowed brows, "Why give up the gun?"

Daryl's eyes shot to the sailor's face after his brother spoke. He had not given a second thought to her choice to give the Asian kid her gun. But now that the hunter contemplated it, the decision seemed odd. Quinn was an expert marksman, probably one of the best in the world going off her rank and rifle collection, so why would she surrender her most deadly weapon to a kid that barely knows how to shoot. Surely it would have been smarter for her to shoot a path through the walkers while he followed her with knives or the crowbar he had brought.

The brunette woman before him chewed her lip, blue eyes shifting between them as she pondered her response.

"There were too many for it to make a dent." She rasped as she played with the end of her ponytail, the long brown strands falling through her fingers. She paused, eyes settling on the vet's face before continuing; "I gave him the gun to calm his nerves, so he wouldn't fall behind while I cut through them. It was the only way to kill quickly enough to make it out and still keep his hands clean."

Quinn hesitated again, bringing her fingers up to press on her temples and closing her eyes, "He wasn't ready for that sort of slaughter, not yet. Not children." The sentence was barely a whisper.

Merle leaned down to rest his hands on his knees, bringing him closer to face level with the sailor seated on the log. "You can't coddle them. Not f'ever, Quinn. This shit world is full of death 'n killin' and they'll have ta get their hands dirty 'ventually," he muttered to her, gravelly voice serious.

Daryl nodded sagely from his brother's side, taking a long drag from his cigarette as his blue eyes stayed stuck to the lip caught between the sailor's teeth. Her tell of contemplation.

"These people are soft, Merle, if we just let them just slaughter everything they'll lose their humanity and their judgment with it. I'll keep the blood on my hands if it keeps their damn decisions sane. We can't afford more bad decisions." She rasped, blue eyes firm as she met the vet's.

Merle nodded to her in understanding, holding his callused hands up in defeat.

The three stayed comfortably in each other's company. Merle tinkering with his motorcycle and telling stories to the younger pair about his escapades abroad while in the Navy. His voice full of gruff laughter.

Daryl busied himself with gutting and skinning the line of squirrels he had caught earlier that day, setting up on the tailgate of his truck just as he had with the deer. Worked as a pretty good table. His eyes occasionally drifting to the roof of his truck's cab, where the sailor perched while cleaning her handgun.

Glenn had woken up from his hibernation and wandered over to sit against the truck, eyes closed against the sun, directly under where the sailor sat on the roof. The Dixons hadn't questioned him, realizing the kid needed to lean on the Commander's calm air, for once keeping their commentary to themselves. Besides, the kid was growing on them.

The others in the camp left them alone, still somewhat shocked from the appearance of the sailor earlier that day on top of the general aversion they had to the Dixons.

Dale sat on top of the RV, keeping watch with an old rife and his trusty pair of binoculars. Angela was at his side, chatting animatedly, keeping the old man thoroughly entertained. Occasionally yelling down to Jim and T who stood in front of the vehicle with the hood open.

The Morales family and Carol's family were each by their own tents. Keeping to themselves for different reasons.

Jacqui and Amy had gone down to the quarry reservoir to do some laundry, or to enjoy the cool water on the hot day, accompanied by little pale Carl. His little smile bursting with youthful energy.

Two people were missing.

Merle snorted when he realized and raised an eyebrow at the Commander with a toothy grin. She rolled her eyes in response before returning to her task. Continuing to screw together the small pieces of metal in her hands.

The deputy and Lori were not very discreet.

The warm evening air was suddenly split by a woman's panicked scream.

"Quinn! Quinn come quick!" Came the scream again, followed by running footsteps as Amy burst into the camp from the path to the reservoir. The blonde's eyes were huge with panic as she tried to calm her breathing. Jacqui hot on her heels.

"What happened?" The sailor responded, abandoning her half assembled handgun on the roof of the truck as she leapt down and ran toward the women. Boots speeding down the gravel path for the second time that day.

"Carl somehow floated to the middle of the reservoir, and now he's stuck! He can't get back! What if he drowns!" Jacqui rambled as Quinn reached her and Amy, running her hands through her hair with panic.

Quinn's dark eyebrows shot up in shock. _How the fuck did you let the kid do that…_

The sailor dropped a hand on the woman's shoulder, rasping "Calm down and go find his mom." Before turning and veering off the reservoir path, heading for the sharp drop that lined the body of water on all sides but the gravel beach, a plan quickly forming in her mind.

If the little pale boy had floated out into the deeper waters of the reservoir, her best bet to reach him quickly was jumping from the rocky cliff face. It should cut her swim distance down significantly, at least if she had judged the distances right during her float earlier.

She sped to the edge of the rock face, skidding to a stop to look down over the reservoir, her eyes scanning for splashes. _Found him._ Quinn had been right in her assumption, Carl was far closer to her then to the shore, his little arms creating ripples in the water body as he flailed.

Back pedaling a few steps, the sailor took a deep breath. Two sets of clothes soaked in one day, she thought, still not her record but still not ideal. Propelling herself forward in a sprint the sailor shot toward the edge and dove. Hands locking above her head, body straightening as she plummeted through the air.

Down. Down. Down… _Hooyah._

The water broke under her locked hands, allowing her to cut through the surface without resistance or injury in a way that only years of SEAL training could teach. Sending her nearly to the bottom of the reservoir. Dark, cold water encompassed her.

Quinn kicked hard to bring herself back to the sunlight, looking about worriedly when she broke the surface. Searching for Carl.

"Help!" came a child's voice near her, the sound muffled by splashing water. Blue eyes followed the voice and found the panicked pale face barely poking above the water.

Quinn quickly swam toward the struggling boy. Pulling him into her shoulder as soon as he was within arms length, allowing him to cling to her like a life raft as she tread water powerfully with her legs. Hoping to settle him down before attempting to swim back to shore with the boy clinging to her neck.

Panicking people could kill you in the water, and the SEAL had no intention of being strangled by a child.

Her arm firmly around his back, anchoring him to her body, Quinn met the boy's terrified eyes with her own. Trying to radiate calmness as she spoke, "Look at me, little man. We're gonna get outta here, but you've gotta be brave for me. You gotta be strong. Roger?"

Her steady composed voice and the soft stare she offered Carl eventually slowed his breathing. Giving in to her command and nodding, he replied quietly, "Roger."

Swimming sidestroke, she had the boy hold onto her like a piggyback ride. Instructing him: "don't you let go of me, kid. No matter what."

She moved slowly with his added weight, and the extra limbs about her body led to constant splashing around her nose and mouth. Threatening to interfere with her breathing. But Quinn was in her element. _What's the weight of a child compared to an unconscious man._

When the water was finally shallow enough for her to stand comfortably in, maybe hip deep, she swung the boy from her back into her arms. Allowing him to wrap skinny arms around her neck as she carried him bridal style.

On the shore she saw three figures, but none were the people she expected. That little Carl needed.

One rushed into the water toward her, splashing loudly as his tall form neared. Taking the boy from her with strong bare arms, The hunter moved to walk close by her side so that she could lean on him if needed. Ice blue eyes bore into hers as Daryl held the boy, relieving her just as her exhaustion from the wild ride of the last 48 hours began to hit her.

"Fuckin' déjà vu." The hunter said under his breath with a smirk at the dripping wet woman at his side.

* * *

Rick will grace us with his presence soon, theoretically next chapter. Thanks for reading, folks. - GC


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Sometimes, when people are put in a stressful or life-threatening situation (or both at once) they lash out. Make poor choices that lead to poor actions. Say things they wouldn't normally say to people they wouldn't normally fight with.

The chances of this happening increase dramatically when one of the parties in said stressful/life-threatening situation is already prone to out bursts of a crude nature, making it almost predictably likely that if that person's skin is rubbed the wrong way even a _smidgeon_ the effect can be extremely problematic.

Merle was having a rough morning.

Having woken up with a splitting headache, likely from his declining drug use, he had stumbled out of his tent into the beginnings of the sunrise to smoke his first cigarette. Hoping the nicotine would stem the aches that wracked his body as it yearned for harder products.

His drug hiatus wasn't really conscious; he just couldn't bring himself to act so blatantly irresponsible in front of his new comrade. _His Commander._ Her presence for the last few days brought him comfort, a constant reminder of the man he used to be. A man who wasn't reliant on anything, much less narcotics, to survive. She was a wolf amongst these feeble sheep, anchoring him to reality in a way that only his brother could usually manage.

Last night she had done just this.

When he had watched the sailor emerge from the reservoir carrying that little boy, he had been paralyzed with anger. Unable to move forward to help as his brother had dashed from his side into the water. How could a parent who looked so proper and kind be so careless with her child? _Pure hypocrisy._ He had been raised in a household of pain and fear, and so the world had expected abuse and damage, however cruel that assumption was. But this. This was disgraceful.

The little boy had been sheet white and shivering in Daryl's arm's as the hunter and sailor had trudged through the water towards Merle. He had looked so helpless.

The Asian kid, Glenn, had been the only other person on the shore. The rest of camp either ignorant to the issue, on watch, or searching desperately for the deputy and the boy's damned mother. He had elbowed Merle in the side to jolt the vet into action, the pair moving to Quinn's sides to support the immeasurably weary sailor. Merle remembered the way her blue eyes had stayed locked on the child, as if willing herself to stay alert until she knew he was safe.

There had been yells from the path to camp, and the thuds of running feet through gravel. Lori and Shane at last approached.

Shane reached them first, skidding to a halt in the gravel, his eyes assessing the scene. His face a mask of growing concern as he had looked between the sopping wet sailor and the boy in a similar state. Trying to put the pieces together, as apparently no one had told them why they were so suddenly needed. When Lori reached his side she let out a strangled sob. Eyes only for her son, she had rushed towards him.

Without a word to his brother, the thin brunette mother had wrenched her son from the hunter's arms and turned back to camp. Crying into the little boy's head as she strode purposefully back to her tent. The boy was still too panicked to complain.

Merle had watched this with gray eyes wide and eyebrows approaching his hairline. Shocked. _What the fuck._ His brother wore a similar expression, bare arm's still held out as if they contained a child. Mouth hanging slightly open under an increasingly fierce glare. Even Glenn had made a small noise of protest from the other shoulder of the sailor, completely aghast.

Both brothers' eyes had shifted to Shane. Ready to cut into the deputy for his pathetic irresponsibility and for the behavior of the retreating woman. Hateful and angry words bubbling to the front of their minds.

A hand had risen to stop the coming onslaught. Causing both to stay their words.

Quinn had moved in front of them, stepping away from the hands supporting her tired form with a straight back and fire in her eyes.

Her freckled face inches from the deputy's, the closeness making him appear to shrink away from the ferocity of her gaze; she had quietly growled, "Handle this negligence. Or I will." Her dark eyebrows then pulled into a glare that made her almost unrecognizable, like the snarl of a wild animal, as she had inched slightly closer to mutter, "If you don't, his blood is on your hands."

Then, with a shake of her tired head and no explanation as to what had happened, the sailor had sent the deputy off toward Lori. Away from the quartet of frustrated figures on the gravel shore.

Merle remembered they had all naturally looked to Quinn for answers, to tell them how to handle the ridiculousness they had just witnessed, and she had met their questioning eyes with firm blue assurance.

"You gotta pick your battles." She had rasped, her already harsh voice muffled by exhaustion. The small frown playing at the corners of her mouth portrayed the rest of her thoughts on the matter. _Not today. The boy needs them right now._

Both Dixons had stayed their rage that night with the slight gesture of a woman's hand, and yet neither felt shame for it. The sailor had tethered them to their composure since her arrival, her constant calm confidence soothing the anger that always bubbled in their minds.

Merle could see this.

Yet as soon as he strayed from her side he lost control.

While Merle had been smoking that first cigarette, his eyes had roamed the campsite. Looking for the only two people he trusted in this nightmare.

His brother must have gone hunting, as the other sleeping bag in their tent had lain empty when the vet had clambered out of bed. Daryl was always an early riser so that wasn't much of a surprise.

The sailor was not at her usual post on top of the RV, the vet had noticed. That spot was occupied by a heavy-eyed Morales. The man had volunteered to take her watch while she and the Asian were on that run. Merle supposed Quinn's absence made sense, given this would have been the first time she got to sleep since the pair had left.

Unfortunately, Morales was not the only person his eyes found as they had drifted from the black Subaru to float around the camp.

Andrea had also been awake.

Merle couldn't seem to resist taunting the blonde. Ever since he met her he had allowed a steady stream of come-on's flow in her direction. Always crude, and always sexual. He loved the way she reacted to his words, face lit up with blush and eyes flashing rage when snapped back at him. _Sexy._ Feisty women had always been his weakness, and even in that early hour looking at her across the camp had gotten him riled. Eager for a fight.

He had not been disappointed.

Somewhere between calling her a "perky blonde whore" and asking her to "bump uglies 'til that lil body sings," Merle had received quite a powerful slap.

The blonde woman had been furious, face flushed and chest heaving she had hurled insults at him while he held the side of his stinging face.

Her last words, spat with hateful spite, still hovered in his mind.

" _No one is going to give two fucks when you're dead Merle Dixon. And I hope it's soon. You're a worthless piece of shit!"_

* * *

Knocking knuckles on glass ripped the sailor from her hibernation. She shot up in her sleeping bag at the sound, long knife in hand and ready to strike.

Light stabbed at her eyes as she carefully opened them to investigate her surroundings. Her long rest had left her slightly disoriented; blinking against the offending sun she peered down at her diving watch on her freckled wrist, it was well past sunrise, meaning that Quinn's body had betrayed her years of careful training. _Fuck._

But, perhaps she had needed the recovery.

Knuckles again wrapped on the darkly tinted windshield of the Subaru, drawing Quinn's attention from the back of the vehicle and reminding her what had awoken her. She quickly slid forward to the back driver-side door where her boots were waiting and pulled them on. Forgoing lacing them, she swung the door open while buckling her handgun holster and knives about her waist.

It was mid morning, and the camp was alive with the chatter of survivors. Milling about doing different tasks and making conversation.

The light was crueler outside than in the darkly tinted safety net of her car, and she had to shield her eyes against it to even see the outline of her caller.

A tall man, toting a large crossbow. _Daryl_.

He approached the sailor as she stepped from her car, a half smirk on his lips as he took in her sleep-ruffled appearance. "Mornin'," came his gravelly voice as ice blue eyes met her own.

Freckled face offering a tired smile, Quinn pulled her hair tie from her mane and shook the brown waves loose about her shoulders as she replied, "Mornin' to you too, ace. Ya need me?"

The hunter leaned against her Subaru by her side and nodded. A callused hand mussing up his dark hair as he rubbed the back of his neck. Thinking.

"We migh' 'ave a problem," he offered, setting his crossbow down to lean against his leg so he could clasp both hands behind his head. "Can't find Merle," he continued, glaring at the clear morning sky in frustration.

Quinn cocked an eyebrow at the man, running her fingers through her wild mass of hair. She didn't understand why this was problem enough for the hunter to need her assistance. It was still only morning, how much trouble could the vet have gotten into? But then again, she had only just woken up so maybe she was missing something obvious. "Might need more to go off then that," she rasped, eyeing the sailor's body language.

He read a combination of worry and frustration, with his bare arms flexed in stress as he held his neck and eyes roaming the sky for answers.

"Apparently he fought with blondie early this mornin' and she hit 'im. I gotta feelin' he's off somewhere rollin' now ta nurse 'is ego. That means he's easy prey if one a them dead fuckers finds him." Daryl muttered to her, frustration palpable.

As his gaze dropped from the sky to rest on her face, Quinn could see the growing concern in the hunter's sharp blue eyes. "Right." She replied, offering Daryl her forearm as she continued, "Gotta find his ass first then." Voice calm and confident, trying to ease the worry that radiated off the man.

With a tap of skin to skin they sprung into action.

After formulating the most likely routes the veteran would have taken from camp, the pair decided the best solution was to divide and conquer. A SEAL and a highly skilled tracker should be able to find one intoxicated person without too much trouble. Both sets of eyes on the same path seemed like a waste of time.

"If ya find him an' he's fine, chirp call. If he's in trouble, or ya need help wrangling him, siren whistle. Ya understand?" Daryl said to Quinn before the two parted to scour their sections of the quarry land. The hunter had heard her chirp call, and knew to have mastered that sound she must be familiar with other common signals.

His eyes bore into hers as he waited for confirmation.

"Gotcha, ace." The sailor rasped with an incline of her head.

The search was on.

Pebbles from the cliff face tumbled down into the reservoir, creating small ripples as they sunk beneath the surface. Disturbed from their place by swinging legs.

He was sitting on the edge, looking down at the water below while fiddling with a small plastic bag containing white powder in his hands. His dirty boots hanging over the sharp drop, kicking in small circles out of habit.

The veteran was lost in his own head, unaware of the sailor's presence until she dropped down to sit by his side.

He didn't react, just kept his eyes on the plastic in his hands while Quinn examined him in silence from her spot at his shoulder. Blue eyes looking for signs of intoxication: shaking hands, overly dilated pupils, rapid breathing... She found only raw emotion stirring in his gruff complexion, the corners of his gray eyes wrinkling as he glared down at the bag. Mouth drawn in a frown.

Merle was hurting, but he was sober.

Leaning slightly into the man's shoulder to catch his attention, Quinn began to speak softly in her rough alto. Weaving a story. Her eyes on the trees beyond the reservoir, trying to draw him away from the dangerous places a troubled mind could lead.

"I knew a man once, hardened by the world's cruelty, who one night wandered from the warmth of his home into the Alaskan snow. Desperate for solitude. Craving to have the cold seep into his bones if just to feel again." She started, dredging up memories of deep snow and long dark days.

"He walked until he reached a river, frozen in perfect waves that had once been powerful rapids." She paused, throwing a small rock into the reservoir below them. Watching as small ripples disturbed the calm surface, "The man found his reflection in that surface, not in the way one might think, not like the mirror of glass. But in those perfect frozen waves. A once powerful force paralyzed by cold and circumstance." She could see her father's face as clearly as the Georgia sky before her as she continued.

"He sat in the deep snow on that river bed, pondering the fate of the frozen water. Ignoring the crisp bite of the winter air that slowly sunk through his layers of wool. Asking himself 'how can I live on when I am frozen, powerless, like this river?' Only warmth can break a river from its frozen prison, and the darkness of winter was far from over. His mind was dark as well, cold and haunted with the memories of war." Quinn reached a callused and across the veteran at her side and gently took the small plastic bag from his hand, receiving no resistance as she pulled it away. "His body began to break down from the cold, frostbite threatening his fingers and toes as he stayed seated on that shore. Ignorant to everything but his contemplation. Until he heard something, something familiar floating through the unforgiving cold: paws pounding in the snow." Quinn began to smile, remembering the howls of dogs and the sound of a sled cutting through powder.

"Someone had been looking for him from the world he had abandoned. The man found himself surrounded by ten panting sled dogs, their mouths appearing to smile as they frolicked around him. Howling excitedly. And he felt warm little arms closing around his neck, as a small voice exclaimed, 'Daddy!' It was then that he realized the obvious route to freedom. Why had he sought the cold to feel, when it was warmth that melted ice? He let his little girl lead him back home, holding tightly to her little form on the back of that dog-pulled sled. Allowing her to break through the cold that had him paralyzed." Quinn finished, feeling the man at her side let out a sigh as she did.

The pair sat in silence for a while, leaning slightly into each other's shoulders. Sharing the weight that pushed down on each of their minds.

Merle spoke first, gray eyes looking to the freckled sailor at his side, "Yer a different breed, Commander." He said, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as a slight smile ghosted his face.

Quinn pushed herself to her feet and away from the ledge, offering the veteran a hand as she replied, "Proudly so. On your feet, sailor." Her freckled face breaking into a smile as the man took her hand and allowed her to pull him up.

As they paced back toward the camp, Quinn let out a chirping whistle. Alerting the hunter of her find.

* * *

Two weeks.

Two weeks of order and routine. Without a corpse wandering onto the grounds of the quarry, or a run into the death trap of Atlanta. The little group of survivors could almost forget that their entire civilization was dissolving. Almost.

There were some in the group who had ventured out of their little sanctuary into danger.

Daryl was hardly going to give up his ventures into the woods for the sake of his own safety. The hunter was confident that the quiet trees would not throw anything at him he couldn't handle with a crossbow bolt or the thrust of a knife. So he had made regular trips into the wild to look for large prey, occasionally having to bring down a stray corpse that would stumble across his path.

The group had also decided that regular scouting trips should be made to the highway. In case a herd of the dead began to wander their way, or some other threat appeared, they wanted to be ready.

That task had naturally fallen upon the most experienced runners. Quinn and Glenn had accepted to do it on their own; they could handle scouting trips on an open road where there wasn't risk of being trapped.

The pair made four tours to the highway in those two weeks. They had been uneventful mostly. Stray corpses were taken down with silenced shots and never got close enough to even notice the sailor and her partner. Quinn had taken to bringing her smaller sniper rifle with her on the trips, allowing Glenn to wield her handgun. The silenced snow-camo .30 caliber was light in her hands and easily brought down distant walkers.

Glenn could now read the sailor's hand signals and body language like her best commandos. The pair worked flawlessly in tandem, as they would creep through the abandoned cars with guns raised and eyes roaming. Merle would joke that they looked like Batman and Robin, the way they moved together and guarded one another even in the camp. Quite the dynamic duo.

The veteran had not looked at narcotics since the day Quinn had sat next to him on that ledge. Thoughts of a frozen river flashed in his mind whenever his resolve would wane.

His brother had noticed the change. The hunter would find his eyes drifting to the sailor, full of gratitude, whenever Merle would make some witty comment he would have been incapable of if high.

A strong friendship had been forged in those weeks, between two brothers and a freckly Alaskan. They spent nearly every evening in each other's company, seated on different parts of Daryl's blue truck as they talked, ate, or cleaned their menagerie of weapons. Generally uninterrupted by the rest of the survivors, unless Glenn wandered over.

Quinn was now fully immersed and accepted in the group. Her quiet confident presence bringing a smile to whomever she interacted with while not out scouting with Glenn. Talking civil rights with Andrea and Dale, city life with T, or about cooking with Carol and Jacqui. She tried to talk to Carol frequently; the more the sailor could pull the woman and her daughter away from her husband the better. Quinn had even managed to contain her disdain towards Lori and Shane, treating them each with tested kindness even as she kept the watch on Carl that was their responsibility. _Contained for now._ She did love that little pale kid though.

It was another clear day, waves of heat rose of the gravel shore of the reservoir in the afternoon sun. Making the air appear to dance with the distortion.

"That's perfect, little man." Quinn rasped as she stood waste deep in the cool water of the reservoir. Her hands floated in front of her, next to Carl's little body. He was floating on his back with a huge grin on his little face.

The kid had asked Quinn if she could teach him how to swim that morning, padding through the grass to where she lay with her larger rifle on the roof of the RV. Not deterred by the presence of a gruff looking Merle seated at her side. She had happily complied, making the kid almost skip with joy as he left. This had drawn a snort and a smirk from the vet.

She wore shorts in the water, and a compression sport bra. Her freckled skin exposed to the sun, as she was tired of regularly soaking her clothing. Quinn had made the kid keep his shirt on, scared that the sun would fry his pale skin. Besides, kids shirts were small which meant it would dry in no time. Their shoes lay abandoned on the shore with her gray t-shirt, roasting in the waves of heat.

The first step in teaching anyone to swim, in Quinn's opinion anyway, was to teach them how to float on their back. If you could float on your back, you could survive in open water. So the sailor was having the kid try, hands ready to pull him back to the surface if he started to sink or panic.

He was doing excellently.

Just as the sailor opened her mouth to offer the kid praise, a shrill yell sounded from over her shoulder.

"What do you think you're doin' Carl? I've been worried sick lookin' for you!" It was Lori; she stood by their shoes with her thin arms crossed across her chest. She was glaring fiercely at Quinn, the sailor noticed as she turned to face the shore.

The boy paddled toward the shore until he could stand and then ran through the water, his face stuck in an excited smile. Ignorant to the anger of his mother. "Quinn was teaching me how to swim! She's a SEAL you know, so she's a professional." Carl explained happily.

Lori ignored him, glaring over his head at the sailor wading towards the shore. Radiating disapproval as the thin woman scanned Quinn's freckly muscled body and saw the large tattoos that covered her back and left leg. This scantily clad military thug had no business with her child. "He almost drowned two weeks ago and you think you can drag him into the water without my permission? I don't know how things are done in the Navy, but in _proper_ society you don't just take someone's child and dive half naked into a lake." She hissed with disgust.

Quinn's eyebrows shot skyward. Anger she had kept at bay bubbled to the surface as she growled, "Lil man run back to camp and find Glenn. Now." Her eyes not leaving the face of the thin brunette woman as the kid obeyed immediately, ignoring his mother's orders to stay.

She stepped from the water, barefoot on the gravel as she intruded into Lori's personal space. The sailor's face morphing into a feral snarl as soon as the boy was out of earshot, her hard gaze paralyzing the other woman in place. "Where were you when he was drowning. Remind me what you were doing when I jumped off of a cliff to save your child," Quinn demanded, her raspy voice deadly.

The thin woman made no response, frozen with fear as the sailor snarled at her, "That's right, you were off fucking the deputy. Just like you always are when you should be watching your god damn kid." Quinn paused to watch the woman squirm before her. When Lori's face was an appropriate shade of embarrassed red, the sailor continued, "So don't you fucking dare try to shame me for helping your child. I don't know how you Southerners do things, but this sure as hell isn't how you raise a kid in the _proper_ society I know. So simmer the fuck down and pull your head out of your ass. Danger is a fact of life now, and that boy will die if you carry on with this shit."

When Quinn finished, her words hung in the warm air, making Lori looked as if she had just been slapped. The thin woman was still frozen to her spot as the sailor pulled on her socks and shoes hastily, and remained even as Quinn strode back to camp with her bare back straight and proud and t-shirt in her hand. Completely humbled.

The shirtless sailor received some odd looks as she emerged from the path to the reservoir, but no one questioned her. Feeling the anger radiating off of her they avoided her path. Although some took the opportunity to examine the newly revealed tattoos on her body. Heavily inked images in red, black, and turquoise.

The sailor fought to extinguish her anger.

After redressing, she isolated herself from the camp by climbing the tall tree her Subaru was parked under. Trying to distract herself so she didn't go find that thin bitch again and rip her apart, Quinn peered through the scope of her snow-camo rifle towards the highway. Looking for things to kill.

Hours passed before anyone dared disturb her. Quinn hadn't shot anything, not wanting to waste the ammunition, but she had seen several corpses bumbling about on the highway. They were not a danger to the camp though, too far away to catch their scent.

The branches below her began to shake, alerting the sailor that another soul was climbing towards her. She sighed and pulled her eye away from her scope, looking down to identify the intruder. _Glenn._

The young Korean man took the arm she offered him and pulled himself up onto a branch at the sailor's side. "You're kind of a struggle to find, you know?" Glenn stated, brown eyes searching Quinn's face. Trying to decide if he had made the right call.

When the Alaskan smiled at him, he visibly relaxed, smiling back with a little chuckle. They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other's company.

Glenn had a calming effect on the sailor. Dissolving away the rest of her rage with his presence. "What brings you to my tree, good sir?" Quinn asked after a while, smiling at the other half of her dynamic duo.

He chuckled, running a hand through his (for once) hatless hair. "Nothing fun unfortunately." He muttered, brown eyes roaming toward the beginnings of the sunset. Continuing, "We have to recruit people tonight. It's finally time again. " His voice quiet.

Quinn sighed. _Another run._ Back into that death trap. At least this time they would be ready, fully armed, and have a team at their backs.

Red and gold split the sky, making the ground below them glow in a warm light. Throwing pink rays off of the windshields of the cars and dancing in the eyes of the survivors below. Like the world was suddenly ablaze, and they say on the highest branch in the bonfire.

* * *

Next is the Rick run... Get hyped. Thanks for reading.

Best,

\- GC


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

"I can't be the only gun here, Quinn. What if we get attacked? I need another reliable man."

The sailor sat cross-legged on the roof of the RV, black hood pulled up over her head and blue scarf wrapped about her face and neck so only her eyes could be seen. Glinting in the beginnings of the sunrise. Her large rifle lay across her lap, the heavy metal chilling the skin beneath her black jeans. She had seen no movement in her hours with the scope pressed to her eye, so she was letting her body relax from that prone position for a moment as it was nearing the end of her early morning watch.

It had been a peaceful morning, with only the soft calls of birds and the hum of insects interrupting Quinn's ponderings of the run she would lead later that day. She and Glenn had a assembled a solid group to accompany them, but the tour still needed careful planning to assure everyone would make it back safely. The sailor was experienced in the art of keeping her SEALs alive, and she intended to use that expertise with these civilians as best she could.

That peace had been shattered when Shane decided to interrupt her solitude with an absolutely terrible idea.

"You're fucking kidding me." The sailor responded, raspy voice slightly muffled by the scarf over her mouth, "Keep any of the other men home, but I go. Without an experienced lead there's too much unnecessary risk. I need to be there to bring them back alive."

The deputy had climbed up to sit next to her on top of the RV, pleading with her to understand his argument as he shrank under the fierce glare that was all he could see of Quinn's face.

"I either need the three men to stay, which leaves you and Glenn with just Andrea and Jacqui, or I need you to stay." The deputy explained, meeting the sailor's eyes under his heavy brows. He ran a large hand through his curly hair, continuing, "That's the only way this camp stays defended while the run happens, and we keep surviving if, god forbid, everyone on the run dies. Because that could happen. You know it could. And if I let all of you go, and that does happen, then these kids, these families are gonna die!"

His concern was genuine; the sailor could read it in his body language. Worried eyes and furrowed brows. But she knew it wasn't for the whole camp. The deputy was worried for his little family, worried that he wouldn't be able to defend those two pale brunettes like he had promised. But his proposition was concerning, as two of the men would almost certainly follow Shane's order and remain behind if Quinn chose not to. The sailor also imagined that Shane would threaten Merle into staying behind, the two were almost always at odds and she knew the deputy would love an excuse to put a gun to the veteran's head. Meaning the count would be down to four.

Four may have been enough if they were all highly trained SEALs or even all knew how to wield a gun. But that was not the case. Andrea and Jacqui were both reliable and strong people, but their lack of weapons experience would mean that Quinn and Glenn would need to be constantly alert on their behalf. No amount of willpower could give someone firearm expertise overnight. Although if anyone could do that, it would be Andrea, Quinn thought, a smile ghosting beneath her scarf.

"What about Daryl?" The sailor questioned, cutting her eyes at the man seated next to her. Surely he must realize that the hunter was staying behind.

That had been one of Quinn's deciding factors when picking men to accompany her; she felt no restraint in decreasing numbers because she knew Daryl would be at camp. The hunter would watch the families for her, just like she would watch his brother.

A scoff sounded from the deputy, he met her eyes with an expression bordering on humor, "You expect me to feel safe 'cause I got that dirty squirrel huntin' redneck here? Definitely not. Hell, he's one of the reasons I need more defense here. Bastard could flip out at any time like that druggy brother of his used too all the time! Fuckin' dangerous the both of them."

Quinn stiffened visibly at his comment. Sure, the Dixon brothers were gruff men who always seemed to be a bit more grime-covered then the rest of the survivors, but this blatant prejudice that the deputy heralded over them still surprised her. There were fucking corpses walking around trying to eat people and some of their group was still concerned with how rough of an accent someone had? _Fucking ridiculous._ It was one thing that she had to subtly stem the racist stream that flowed from the brothers' mouths (diversion tactics, always worked wonders), but this shit from a so-called man of the law was disappointing at best.

"What is it with you Southerners always needing someone to hate? Everyone still bitter about the Civil War? This is the issue with the lower 48, too much damn prejudice, " the sailor growled, placing her hands behind her so she could lean back and look at the sky.

She examined a wispy cloud for a moment, deciding how aggressively she should react, before continuing, voice deadly low, "Daryl Dixon is an excellent marksman, a damn good hunter, and debatably the best tracker I've ever met, and believe me I've met some fucking top notch trackers in my day. He's practically made for this hellhole." Quinn dropped her gaze from the cloud back to the deputy's face, glaring again. "You should consider yourself lucky to have a man like that at your side. I sure as hell do," the last sentence was barely a whisper, a reminder to herself just how much she valued the hunter's quiet presence. Thinking back to when he had splashed through the water toward her to take that cold child in her arms, moments before she would have collapsed. Keeping her on her feet with his solid form at her side.

Shane's response cut through the image, bringing her back to the present moment. "Well I suppose you're entitled to your own opinion, but I'm telling you I ain't comfortable with just him here to guard my back. And I'm pretty sure you ain't comfortable with only having one other gun on the trip with you, so why don't we compromise? You stay here with me, and Glenn gets three additional guns to go with him. And as a bonus I won't shoot that damn redneck hunter as long as you're here. The bastard is asking for it the way he's always glarin' at me." Shane stated as he offered his hand to the sailor, knowing he had left her little other option then to agree.

Quinn shook her hooded head with frustration. The mother fucker had just blatantly threatened her into a corner, in a different time she would have broken a man's arm or hell even shot them in the fucking head for threatening one of her men. (Depends how severe the threat) This would lead to nothing but problems for their little group, she could feel it. But she was still too new to the camp to know if the men would follow her orders over Shane's, which meant that she had to fold. She couldn't risk Glenn's life and the lives of the others on the run by choosing one gun over three. Sure she had more experience then any of the rest of them combined, but in a panic that wouldn't matter. Not when some of them didn't have weapons. She was only one person.

"If this shit goes south, I'll be at your throat. You understand? Because this is a mistake and I'd prefer it only happen once." The sailor growled as she took the offered hand and shook it firmly. Blue eyes flashing a clear sign of her distaste for the agreement, as her mind wandered to the one other time in her years of command she had folded to a stupid ass idea. _Fuck me; this is worse then that shit mission in Syria._

Without a further word to the deputy, Quinn slid off the top of the RV to land silently in the grass with a little cloud of dew exploding around her feet, large black rifle in hand. She slung the firearm across her back by its thick leather strap and pulled down her hood as she headed toward Glenn's tent, knowing her young friend would be none too pleased about her not accompanying him today.

The camp was stirring now; the early risers could be heard in their tents as the sun peaked higher on the horizon. Those who had volunteered for the run made up the majority of this group, most of them nervous for what dangers the day may hold. They were set to leave later that morning.

Other than Shane and Quinn, only one other survivor had yet ventured from their tent.

Graceful plumes of smoke curled from an unshaven mouth into the sky as Daryl pulled a cigarette away from his lips, exhaling from his seat on the tailgate of his pickup. He had not been within earshot of their muted argument, but the hunter could tell a problem had arisen between the deputy and the sailor by the way the woman's fists clenched at her sides as she strode across camp. Quiet paces marking her unique footfalls so that he didn't even really need to look up from his smoke cloud to realize her identity. Only the SEAL tread so silently. It was somewhat creepy the way she could sneak up on him, the hunter thought, as he tracked her with his ice blue eyes. The woman seemed to be emanating frustration as she approached a small tent near her Subaru, Glenn's tent if he wasn't mistaken. _Somethin's up._

With a strong arm on the blue metal of his vehicle Daryl pushed himself to his feet and paced toward the sailor, flicking the small butt of his cigarette into the wet grass as he went. It sizzled feebly in the dew as it extinguished. When he was young, the hunter used to catch the subtle signs of his brother's fury as the older boy would storm out of the house. The clenching of fists, and the taught line of his tightened jaw. The dirty shirt on his back hiding the fresh bloody wounds their drunken father had only just created. Daryl would read the signs and feel something in his bones, a pain, a burning ache to help his hurting sibling. Of course, Merle had resisted asking for his help, ever the hardheaded and brave man, determined to keep his baby brother as far from harms way as he could, even if it meant hiding his own pain. But Daryl had always known, always felt that familiar ache in his young body, as he would watch his brother walk away with his head high and back bloody.

The hunter credited these experiences in his youth to his heightened ability to read people. The one useful thing his bastard of a father had provided in his constant terrorizing. However, he had never felt this odd blinding physical empathy for another person outside of Merle, that is, until he met Lieutenant Commander Lee. Maybe it was because she reminded him of a young Merle in many ways, full of inextinguishable fire and proud 'til the end. Or maybe it was because she was now the closest thing to a friend he had that wasn't his damn brother. The only person who would watch his back if Merle died… He didn't know. But he knew that he trusted the sailor, and that was enough for Daryl not to worry about odd details.

So, when the hunter watched her small and callused hands clench at her sides as Quinn walked with her back straight and head high up to knock on the side of Glenn's tent, he knew something was wrong. He felt it burning in his bones. The sailor was angry, and he intended to find out why.

* * *

"You think they'll listen to me?" Glenn murmured to the sailor, eyes on his hands as they clasped around his knees. Thumbs twiddling nervously.

He was perched on his sleeping bag, hair still disheveled from sleep and eyes barely open in the morning light. Quinn had disturbed him from a REM cycle, making him nearly jump out of his skin when she rapped on the material of his tent. But, when he had unzipped the little entrance of his green canvas sanctuary and seen the anger glinting in those familiar eyes above a blue scarf, he had quickly beckoned the sailor inside. It wasn't often that she was visibly angry, but when she was it almost always meant there was a real problem afoot.

And he had not been wrong.

Holy fuck, did the deputy want him to die? The young Korean man could hardly believe what he was hearing as the sailor had pulled her scarf away from her face and rasped the situation to him inside the privacy of canvas walls. Wild ponytail waving behind her as she gestured animatedly. The true sign that she was furious, as Quinn wasn't generally one to emote. Why had Shane not told them ahead of time that he needed extra men at camp? It couldn't have only donned on him this morning, he wasn't that idiotic. _Hopefully._ This seemed like nothing more then a power play, Glenn thought, and he knew Quinn realized this too. Not a lot of good that did them though, they were still stuck with the same damn decision.

Shortly after Quinn had entered his tent, a second rapping had sounded on the canvas walls. The pair had looked at each other in the soft light of the rising sun that trickled into the tent, and Glenn had found his confusion mirrored on the freckled face next to him. Both falling silent as they waited for the newcomer to identify themselves. Clarity had come in the form of a scruffy face peaking around the half-zipped canvas of the tent's door. _Daryl._

"Ya near scorched a path in the grass with all that rage, Lee. We gotta problem?" Came the quiet gravelly voice of the hunter.

The sailor had chuckled softly at the comment and motioned the man inside before restarting her explanation. The trio were somewhat cramped in the small green tent, all seated cross-legged amongst Glenn's belongings, looking like some odd prayer circle with their heads together conspiring. Both men listened with expressions of disgust and frustration as Quinn had described the choice the deputy had given her. Daryl had taken to swearing colorfully under his breath every time she spoke the deputy's name, much to her amusement, where as Glenn had stayed mostly silent. Brown eyes wide. Realizing that he would have to lead a team into a death trap in mere hours.

"They have to, kid." Quinn responded, dropping an arm around Glenn's shoulders and pulling him into her side affectionately. "Might be a bit like herding lemmings though…" Quinn continued, mouth tugging into a lopsided grin when she caught the hunter's eye as he snorted. Two pair of blue eyes twinkling with mirth. _Off the edge they go._

The SEAL sent Daryl to wake his brother and inform him of the change in plans. Trusting the hunter to do her tale justice. The veteran would be more then an asset to any crew when Quinn was in charge, but the sailor knew that without her steady hand the man could stray. He was not far along on his path to addiction recovery, and even a gentle breeze could blow him back off that cliff. She needed him to know what was happening so he would be smart, if only for her and his brother.

The hunter had left after a tap of arms with the sailor, and what he must have thought was a reassuring look to Glenn. Came off a little on the scowl side, but the younger man grasped the sentiment.

A glance over his shoulder as he started toward the tent he shared with Merle had granted the hunter with a final message from the soft blue eyes of the freckly woman. _Hide his drugs._ The hunter had nodded as he held the eye contact for a moment, before turning and jogging the rest of his determined path.

Inside the little tent, the sailor and the delivery boy discussed tactics for the day. The now bright sun shining through the canvas, basking them in a green tinted light that matched the tent's shade and illuminated the familiar map that the pair had stretched between them. The same map of Atlanta they had poured over weeks ago in her brother's apartment on their first encounter. Quinn carefully ran her friend through the plan she had spent much of the morning concocting, including everything from her preferred entry point to the best alleys the group could hide in if being swarmed. Voice low and calm as she pointed to various places on the map, she did her best to lull the young man into a confident state of mind.

Before she left the tent, the sailor drew her silenced handgun from her holster and held it out to Glenn. Brown eyes met blue, their depths swimming with the shaky confidence she had instilled in him, and accepted it. Tucking the firearm into the waistband of his jeans, he offered Quinn a curt nod, trying in vain to be the stoic hero. After barely a second he forwent the brave face and pulled his freckly friend into a tight hug.

"You can do this, kid." She rasped into his shoulder.

* * *

About four hundred yards east of the quarry, across the reservoir, on a thin and windy dirt road that had once led the forest service to their different outposts, a lone corpse was roaming. Dragging its dead limbs as it searched idly for food while dressed in a bloodied plaid shirt and vibrant orange vest that marked it's previous life as a lone hunter, completely oblivious to the green laser point resting between its dead eyes.

A quiet pip of air sounded from the top of a sturdy tree those four hundred yards away, and the body fell to the ground. Laser point vanishing with the sound.

Quinn lowered her white and gray rifle from her eye; glaring out at where she knew the body now lay immobile. Strong legs wrapped around a thick branch near the top of the deciduous tree she perched in. Leafy trees were still somewhat of a novelty to the Alaskan, the task of climbing one was so different then scaling a ladder-branched evergreen. She had basked in the challenge early that morning, looking for something to distract her persistently worrying mind after Dale had relieved her of watch around seven. Unfortunately, the distraction had been short-lived, as the sailor had climbed the oak with relative ease and was left with only her snow rifle and her thoughts for company. And that corpse, for a brief moment.

It had been a full day since the crew had left for Atlanta, and the worry was beginning to seep into the sailor's mind.

They were only civilians, so much could go wrong that they wouldn't be prepared to handle. Scenarios ran like cinema behind her eyes as Quinn had lain alert and on guard during her shift, each reel showing a more gruesome death for her friends then the next. _I should be with them._

Yesterday around this same hour she had stood at the edge of the gravel exit road with a hand on the shoulder of Merle Dixon as she eyed the back of Glenn's head, watching the kid nod along to instruction from an authoritative looking Shane. The sailor had made the veteran promise not to be stupid. Made him promise to bring her young Korean friend back in one piece. "Don't you let me down, sailor," she had rasped with a smirk on her lips and a squeeze of the leather vest that covered his shoulders.

"Not for anything, darlin'," he had replied, his low voice full of humor as he split into a toothy grin. "Can't break up that dynamic duo."

Quinn had then explained to him her extraction plan if things went south. Only to him, she couldn't risk rattling Glenn when the kid was already so nervous. Couldn't let him think she doubted him even for a second. Which she didn't, the sailor had full confidence that her delivery boy was capable of heading a successful mission, but she still needed to have a back up plan.

"Two days. You have two days before Daryl and I come after you." She had muttered to the veteran before the little group had departed. The hunter had stood at her side, crossbow leaning against his bare shoulder as his ice blue eyes stuck firmly on his brother's face. Quinn had held onto Merle's shoulder until he had offered her a nod, and then the vet pulled her into a brief crushing hug, before heading after the others down the gravel road. Waving to Daryl as he went.

A lingering sent of motor oil and cigarettes had floated around the sailor as she stood watching the retreating figures, arms crossed over her chest as if to hold in the worry that had already quickened her pulse. _Two days._

Daryl was out hunting now; the lucky bastard had the perfect task for distraction, Quinn thought as she gazed out over the quarry land from her perch. The bowman had told her the night before as the two lounged on top of her Subaru, feeling the void left by Merle's absence.

"I'll be back 'round dinner time 'n if they ain't back we go in then. Don't care if it's night. 'Sides I figure we're both abou' as sneaky as people get these days." He had said with a chuckle as he had leant back on her roof rack to stare up at the stars.

They had lain together for what seemed like hours on that roof, staring up at the pinpricked patterns of light that speckled the sky in companionable silence. Smoke curling in wispy patterns between them as the hunter had periodically brought a cigarette to his lips.

It had been one of his last, he had given into his craving with hopes that if would distract him from the worry building in his mind.

Quinn glanced down at the grassy ground beneath her when the voices of young people floated up to her ears, drawing her from her memories of the night before.

"Shane said she would be in one of these trees!" came the high-pitched voice of a prepubescent boy.

The sailor could see little pale Carl and skinny blonde Sophia standing at the base of her broad oak tree, she let out a quiet sigh. Time to face reality.

She slung her snow rifle over her back and began her descent, nimbly hopping and climbing from one branch to the next like one of Tolkien's perfect elves. _Not quite._

As she neared the lowest hanging branches she alerted the kids that they had indeed found the right tree. "What's up youths?" the sailor called as she swung from a thick, moss covered branch onto the grass, it creaked against her weight as she let go and landed in front of the pair.

They started slightly with her sudden appearance.

"See I told you, she's basically magic!" little Carl exclaimed with a joyous grin on his pale face. Sophia just smiled shyly at his side. "Shane and Mom said you could teach us some more swimming stuff!" he continued, rushing forward and seizing her hand so he could drag the SEAL towards the reservoir.

Quinn chuckled; she never thought she'd see the day when Lori would agree to let her teach that child something. Allowing herself to be pulled along, and grasping Sophia's hand as she passed the young girl, drawing a little laugh from the kid, Quinn rasped, "Well as long as your Mommas say its alright, then I'm game."

Both kids cheered.

As they tread the familiar gravel path down to the water, Carl told his companions a story about some his father's epic swimming adventures.

Quinn smiled down at the little boy whose hand was dwarfed even by hers, happy to see that the kid held such fond memories of his dad. She knew the man had died before the world turned hellish, somewhat of a blessing in disguise. Apparently the guy had been some sort of fish-human hybrid with the way Carl described his aquatic escapades, he obviously had not been the parent in charge of teaching his child to swim, Quinn thought bitterly, memories of the flailing boy flashing to the front of her mind. She shook her long wavy ponytail over her shoulder with a flick of her head, realizing that she was still far from seeing eye-to-eye with Lori over that whole ordeal.

The reservoir was still and serene, the blue green water reflecting the surrounding scenery almost perfectly in the sunlight of what now must be the afternoon.

Blue eyes peered up to analyze the position of the sun. Dark brows pulled down to shield against the light as the sailor squinted. The hours until she and hunter would head for Atlanta were ticking by faster and faster

Before the two happy children could pull Quinn fully clothed into the water a sound ripped through the quarry. Harsh against the former quiet of nature. Ringing in their ears as it echoed against the walls of the reservoir cliffs. A car alarm.

Black boots spun in the gravel and kicked up dust in her wake as Quinn tore up the path back toward camp. Swinging her white and gray rifle from her back to hold pressed into the crook of her shoulder as she ran. Ready for battle.

"Take Sophia and go back to your tent. Now, Carl!" She ordered with a firm look over her shoulder at the little boy. Her tone leaving no room for argument. She saw him nod and drag the skinny blonde girl after him, toward safety.

The sailor burst from the tree line into the crowd of gathered survivors in a sprint, causing them to part for her like a biblical sea for fear of being bowled over. She skidded to a halt when she reached the front of the crowd, rifle still raised as she assessed the scene.

The blaring alarm was coming from a swanky red sports car, the hood of the vehicle was popped and two men hunched over it, looking for an off switch she assumed. Behind the red noise machine was a box truck, with five people standing at the back of it, all in various states of sweaty or bloody disarray. Too huddled together and distant to identify for certainty. Talking with a disgruntled looking Shane. The deputy recognizable by the cleanliness of his clothing.

She did a double take of the two men at the hood of the sports car as they finally cut the alarm system, a joyous realization donning on her as she looked at the man in the baseball cap leaning over the engine next to Jim and saw that it was her delivery boy.

"Oh thank fuckin' everything." The sailor murmured to herself as she swung her rifle over her shoulder and raced over to the young Korean to nearly tackle him in a hug.

"Quinn!" He yelled excitedly as his arms closed around her strong shoulders, responding to her embrace with a similar enthusiasm. The dynamic duo was split no more.

The sailor released him slightly so she could hold the kid at arms length and examine him. Blood, dirt, and sweat. This must have been a tough run, she thought, eyebrows drawing together with concern as she took in the man's appearance. She paused her analysis when she reached his large brown eyes, her concern deepening as she noticed the way they swam with what must be unshed tears. _Something was wrong._

"What happened?" She rasped quietly to Glenn, blue eyes soft with worry as she held his gaze.

When she finished her sentence she felt a hand drop on her shoulder, as a masculine voice said, "I think I should be the one to answer that question, miss."

The unfamiliar intrusion caused her to react instinctually. Swinging her rifle from her back, up into the crook of her shoulder as she spun in one motion, stopping when the white silencer at the end of the muzzle rested between a pair of unfamiliar eyes.

"Ah, you must be the Commander he was talkin' 'bout then." The man continued in a voice attempting to be calm. Hands raised above his head to try to ease her into lowering her weapon.

The stranger was dressed in a full sheriff's uniform, hat and all.

"Who the fuck are you." The SEAL demanded in her most commanding rasp, blue eyes flashing at the use of her title by a stranger. Rifle trained skillfully between his eyes even as he flinched back at her words.

Suddenly, the little form of Carl threw himself between the sailor and her target, letting out a happy yell that sounded like, "Dad!" _But his dad is dead._

Quinn slowly lowered her gun as the man in the sheriff uniform pulled Carl into his arms, tears of joy pouring from his eyes as he clutched the boy to his chest.

Something very odd was happening here.

She heard Lori's shrill voice sound from over her shoulder as the woman's footsteps pounded in the grass, running toward the man. "Rick!"

"Name's Rick Grimes." The sheriff said quietly as he met Quinn's confused gaze over the shoulder of his wife as the family embraced, a jumble of tears and happy smiles as they sobbed joyfully into each other's bodies.

 _Very odd_.

The sailor tore herself away from the confusing scene in front of her to look for a certain gray-headed veteran.

Blue eyes darting from face to face as she searched frantically amongst the returners. Until her eyes finally fell back on the brown pools that were still threatening tears. Glenn's sad eyes flicked toward the newcomer claiming to be a dead man as she asked quietly, "Where is Merle?"

The returners' silence fell like a smothering blanket.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

 **Thwack!**

Darkness fell behind his eyes, blinding him to the waking world.

His ears hummed with ambient noise as he toppled back into his own mind. Deafened to anything but his memories.

He could hear a sound, a familiar feminine voice, calling his name through the darkness. Drawing forth a face from his memories he had not dared to think of in decades.

He had been in love once.

When he was still that young proud sailor he would now barely recognize. Who he was desperately striving to be again.

And she had loved him.

Full hips, voluptuous curves and golden brown skin that almost glinted in the sunlight. Barely ever covered by more then a pair of cut-off jean shorts and the smallest triangle swimsuit top a man could imagine.

Bless that Florida summer.

Black hair that cascaded down her back in waves, like the Atlantic at midnight, would tickle his nose while she moved rhythmically against him in one of those sweaty Cuban clubs. Smelling like coconuts and pure desire.

 _Lila_.

He had loved her.

Loved the way his hands fit around her waist when he pulled her into his chest. Loved the way she cooed his name in that flitting Latina accent, and loved it even more when she screamed ecstasy in the dark humid air of those nights spent together, for all of his squadron to hear.

The way she smiled, the soft musical tinkling of her laugh and the way her dark brown eyes turned to molten chocolate when he touched her just right. _Lord._

But most of all he had loved that little half-smirk she got when she caught him in uniform. That little expression of satisfaction as her eyes would rake up and down his pressed dress-fatigues. He was hers. And she was proud.

 _Lila_.

He remembered standing on the deck of that matte gray ship, scratching uncomfortably at the wool collar of his dress uniform, looking down at the sea of faces on the dock. The whole city, it would seem, had swarmed to see off their Navy boys.

His gray gaze had searched each face. Looking for that ripple of black hair, and those breathtaking chocolate eyes.

His little golden angel, floating slightly back from the jostling crowd, had raised a blue handkerchief above her head and waved it slowly. Black hair swaying with the gesture. Tears flowing gently from her eyes. He could almost make out the words her soft pink lips were saying as he had squinted into that bright Florida sun.

 _I love you, Merle._

He could almost hear it now, echoing in his head like a long forgotten song just breaching the surface again.

Her perfect voice saying his name.

 _Merle...Merle…_

"Merle!"

The face of his beautiful Lila dissolved as the sound of Glenn's voice yelling his name smashed through the walls of his subconscious. Bringing his senses sharply back to his body, so that his head pounded with piercing pain and the sun clawed at his eyes behind their lids. Rousing him at last.

As he slowly rolled onto his back from the splayed position he had found himself in, clutching his throbbing head, Merle heard the Korean kid mutter, "Oh thank god, you didn't kill him."

Squinting against the late afternoon sun, the vet peered at the little group huddled above him, trying to remember what the fuck what going on. Five familiar faces met his gray eyes, all looking down at him with expressions ranging from concern to mild annoyance. One stranger stood amongst them, a man in a full sheriff's uniform. _Oh, right._

The events leading up to his brief blackout swam to the front of his mind.

That damned sheriff had drawn half of the city's dead to the building they were now stuck in with an idiotic display of horsemanship. The poor beast had been eviscerated almost immediately, forcing the man to flee into an abandoned National Guard tank.

So, naturally Glenn had decided that their little group needed to play rescue crew to the asshat cowboy, and they had quickly formulated a plan to extract him from the tank and get him to the roof. Ignoring the fact that they would then definitely be trapped in the damned building.

When they had successfully pulled off this mission, with no small amount of skill preformed by the Asian kid as he had woven fearlessly through corpses to reach their target, Merle had decided to give Officer Friendly here a piece of his mind. Who the fuck rides a horse through a corpse-infested city? Might as well ring the damned dinner bell.

That had apparently gone less well then the vet had hoped. Going off of the pounding of his head and the pain around his right eye socket, Merle assumed that the sheriff had offered him a heavy slug to the face in response to the stream of insults and attacks the vet had thrown his way. The rusty metal pipe sticking out of the roof near his head must have caused the rest of the pain. Being punched and then tumbling head first onto solid metal was more than enough to knock a man out. _Well fuck me._

The consistent throbbing of his head and the dizziness that could only mean he had suffered a concussion forced the vet to stay on the rooftop as the little group strived to find an escape from their building. Sheriff's orders, but he had obeyed when he had seen the pleading looks in the other's eyes. Reminding him of that raspy request he had gotten back at the quarry. _Don't be stupid, sailor._

He had spent most of that time leaning against the short wall that lined the edges of the roof, looking over the side of the building to keep an eye on the swarms of walkers out front. Squinting against the bright sun that only worsened his headache.

When the sheriff and Glenn had journeyed out into the jungle of dead, spattered in innards, T-dog had come up to the roof to watch their progress and share the escape plan with the vet. Merle had to admit; the idea with the corpse covered trench coats was pretty damn clever.

That vantage point allowed Merle and T to watch the pair even as they had been forced into a sprint when the sky had opened up and water began to pour down in sheets in the classic southern fashion. Helpless to do anything but stare, wide eyed and mouths gaping, as the sheriff and the delivery boy fought through the crowd of dead in the deluge to their goal.

The harsh blaring of a car alarm had echoed eerily off the buildings of the deserted city. Alerting the odd couple on the rooftop that it was time for their final descent.

With a bit of bitching, the vet allowed the large black man to help him down the endless flights of stairs. Grumbling as T occasionally joked about how much less of an atrocious ass he was now that Quinn was around, as they descended flight after flight.

The bottom level of the building had just been compromised as the pair came skidding out of the stairwell. Corpses were clambering through the shattered glass of the storefront with a chorus of hungry groans. Rotting hands reaching towards the sound and smell of the living.

The pair dashed across the tile floor, footsteps like a siren to the dead as they ran, T leading the way so that he could wrench open the heavy door to the loading bay and their escape.

But the large man didn't look back when he saw the open and waiting bed of the box truck. Even as the veteran had stumbled, dizzy from his pounding head.

Didn't look back as he sprinted across the loading bay to leap into the truck between Jacqui and Morales. Even as Merle had kicked and thrashed with his weighty hunting knife at the walkers threatening to spill through the doorway, down on one knee and barely conscious next to the heavy bay door.

Didn't look back as Andrea hollered at the sheriff to: "Floor it!" Even as the old sailor had yelled in pain as a corpse's dead teeth had torn at the skin of his hand as he had slammed the heavy door shut.

And that had been their downfall. When the world goes to hell, you always… always look back.

Fingers bleeding as he turned on his heels just in time to see the box truck peel out of the bay, ignorant to his absence, Merle cursed under his breath. Knowing what he had to do and thanking whatever god that watched over him that he had sharpened his best knife that morning.

He drew a familiar blue handkerchief from his back pocket, the material worn soft from years of traveling in pockets, and twisted it into a rope. He placed the cloth in his mouth like the bit of a stallion's reins. Grimacing down at the blood dripping from his hand as his jaw clamped against the fabric.

In one motion the veteran brought his knife down on his wrist, the full strength of his body coiled into the strike. His anguished cry was barely muffled through his teeth clenched around the handkerchief, bouncing off the concrete of the bay, drowning him in his own pain as it reverberated in his ears.

As darkness again began to shroud his consciousness, his body struggling with the shock and blood loss from his field amputation, he could see that lovely golden brown face smiling down at him. His little angel willing the life to stay in his body with her chocolate eyes.

 _Lila._

Now, he could only pray that he had acted quickly enough.

* * *

Thin clouds shrouded the afternoon sun, but that did not stop the waves of sweltering air that drifted through the camp. A breeze that added to the sweat dripping from the survivors, rather than drying it.

They were gathered in a semi circle near the fire pit, those recently returned mingled amongst those who had remained. All listening intently to the southern drawl of the newly introduced Rick Grimes as he told the story of the run, waiting to learn why the group had returned one man down.

When it came time for that explanation, the sheriff allowed T-dog to share the stage with him. Hoping that a certain fearsome freckled woman would be less likely to snap on a man she knew well.

Shoulders tensed and back, callused hands clasped around her rifle and resting against the duel leather knife sheaths at her back, Quinn listened to the two men before her weave their tale in silence. Blue eyes lighting a wildfire in each man's face as she glared intently from under sharply drawn dark eyebrows.

Guilt seeped into their bodies as the line of her mouth grew thinner and dropped word by word into a frown of wordless disapproval.

"We didn't notice until it was too late." T muttered, eyes on his feet as he brought a large hand up to rub the back of his baldhead.

"The dead had swarmed in the streets and closed off our path back, we didn't have a choice but to leave." Rick continued, meeting the sailor's gaze. The sheriff felt remarkably guilty, but he believed he had made the right decision. He had needed to get these people to safety, and he had. Mostly.

The group began to buzz as the survivors murmured to one another, discussing the fate of the man that had been left behind and theorizing the reaction the younger Dixon would have to this news. The hunter had still not returned and was clueless to the happenings of the run.

The gossipers expected fury.

Quinn remained silent, glaring gaze cold as she contemplated the two men in front of her, freezing them like statues in her sights. Even as the others started to mill about behind them.

One simple lesson had been beaten into her brain, day after day, month after month, and year after year. From the time she could barely walk, to her first day at the Academy. Even in her last official mission before the outbreak, someone had always spoken the simple phrase that had defined leadership for her. Reminded her of that golden rule. _Never leave a man behind._ Not even if they've been mortally wounded, or lost a limb, or hell not even if they're dead. Quinn and her team had dragged men miles over sand and snow, bleeding or unconscious, anything to bring them home.

She could read from the sheriff's body language and the tactics he had used in the escape plan that he must be an intelligent man, and a capable leader. He seemed like the type that she could grow to respect, maybe even follow. But, as she stood in front of him and T, hands clenching in carefully controlled anger around her rifle, she wondered how any civilian could possibly hope to survive in this world if they couldn't even think to look back over their shoulder.

The SEAL promised herself in that moment that she would double her observation efforts, if the rest couldn't be trusted to keep track of their own people, damn it she would do it for them. She could practically hear her dad's rough voice growling: _Quinny, if the whole damned world is doing it wrong, then you better go do it right._

A feminine voice from over her shoulder muttered, "At least it was only that redneck."

The statement broke through her thoughts and almost instantaneously pushed her anger over the boiling point. She flicked her long wavy ponytail over her shoulder, deciding that she had stayed silent too long.

"Listen to me, all of you." Quinn rasped, raising her voice and breaking her silence as her blue eyes floated over the faces around her from under fiercely glaring brows. "In my world, the world of orders and uniforms. Of war and death. This does not happen. This cannot happen. Do you know why?" The sailor paused, examining expressions of the survivors. All had fallen silent at her words.

"Because men die." She continued, stepping toward Rick and T as she growled, "You have to look back. You always have to look back. No matter how dark the oncoming horizon or how bloody the path you came from, you look over your shoulder and you bring all your men home. No matter who they are, or if they slow you down. If you don't, your numbers will dwindle until you are all gone. Do you understand?"

Rick and T were both nodding. Guilt plastered on their faces. The woman, who had muttered against Merle, was now glowing beet red in embarrassment under her blonde hair. _Andrea._

"We don't leave people to be eaten alive." Quinn rasped quietly, only to Rick. Eyes softening as she met his gaze. She found nothing but regret and honesty in his thin face, and explained, "When Daryl comes back we're going back for him."

The sailor sighed, bringing a hand up to rub her temples in frustration, concern for both the hunter and the vet growing by the second as she offered the sheriff a final message before treading toward her Subaru, "And don't expect him be as delicate as me when he finds out about all this, Rick, you all may have just murdered his brother after all."

Quick footsteps followed her across the grass as she headed for her vehicle, tailing her as she cut smoothly through the camp. The sailor knew it was Glenn even before he reached her, accustomed to his steps as he was almost always at her side.

When the young man fell into stride with her, Quinn flung an arm around his shoulders and drew him into her side. Guilt and grief were emanating from his body and the sailor wanted to quash both as best she could.

"I didn't know until we made it here. I would have gone back, Quinn." He said softly, brown eyes meeting her own as he brought a hand up to run through his hair as the other clutched his cap, honest as ever. That was one of the many things she adored about this kid, he couldn't lie.

"I know," she replied, giving his shoulders a little squeeze as a slight smile ghosted over her freckled face.

She pulled the hatchback of her car open and gestured for Glenn to sit as she began to rummage through her collection of weaponry, supplies, and ammunition. Looking for her cleaning kit. He perched near the bumper, and when Quinn held out a small hand he immediately pulled her silenced handgun from his waistband and placed it in her palm.

Settling in the back of the vehicle next to Glenn, she rasped, "So now tell me what happened from your eyes."

As he relayed his perspective of events, lying back in the vehicle so that he could contemplate the black interior as he strained his memory for every detail, she began the meditative process of disassembly and cleaning.

The rest of the survivors trickled back to their own tasks, those freshly returned from the run chatting quietly with those who had stayed. All shaken from the commanding rasps that still floated in their minds, and not daring to raise their voices too much.

Quinn had made the fear of loss real for them all again.

In the RV Amy and Andrea clung together, Dale close by their sides, as Andrea recounted her version of the events of the run in dramatic tones. Her younger sister's arms tightening around her with every mention of walkers and near-death experience. The older blonde's eyes would occasionally dart to the Subaru through the RV window, as the woman couldn't help but feel guilty about her words against Merle. He may be a crude and unrefined man, but he was one of them. And they had left him to die.

Her hands shook slightly as she pondered the reaction of the younger Dixon again; Andrea very much doubted he would be forgiving. The unrefined were often unforgiving, she thought.

A child's laughter echoed through the camp.

Carl Grimes didn't let the mood of the group dampen his spirits. A smile was stretched wide on his young face.

He hadn't really understood the context of the sailor's words enough to be shaken. He was too happy to give in to the somberness of the adults, happier than he had been since the outbreak, clinging to his father as the little family sat together in their tent. They talked happily, huddled close together around a large photo album. Mother and son staring at Rick with eyes full of joy and wonder, still in shock.

Seated on the hood of his jeep alone, the deputy reflected none of this joy; occasionally shooting blatantly angry looks at the Grimes' family tent.

He was watching the love of his life slip out of his grasp, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. How the fuck was Rick Grimes alive? He had felt the man's wrist back in that hospital, for god's sake. Shane ran a hand through his curly hair, knowing he should be happy with his best friend's sudden resurrection.

But right now he wanted him dead. Dead like he had been. Dead like he should be.

The large man grunted with frustration as he tore his eyes away from the tent and glanced toward the Subaru.

The sailor was not happy with him, Shane thought as he examined Glenn's legs hanging out of the back of the black vehicle he knew hid the woman. He had made a bad call in keeping her here, the deputy could admit it, and she was going to let him hear that. It was only a matter of time. He sighed, next time he would listen. Shane owed the sailor that, owed her obedience for his own stupidity. _You may have gotten a man killed today, Walsh._

A few hours passed of quiet voices floating in the heavy humid air, as the survivors hid from the sun in their tents and vehicles. Allowing them some time to recuperate from the day's excitement.

Some planning the re-entry trip, some trying to forget that one was necessary.

Just as they had all been lulled off of their guard by the heat and the low hum of friends murmuring together, a scream tore through the quarry.

A woman's scream.

Followed by the rustling of leaves and underbrush from the tree line.

Sheriff and deputy shot toward the sound, finding each other and falling into a familiar step as they paced side by side. Weapons raised.

* * *

It took me a while to decide how I wanted to handle Merle, and how I wrote this will shape aspects of both Daryl and Quinn in this piece.

Also, I decided to hold off the Daryl scene until the next chapter, I think it ties in better with how I want to write the return trip to Atlanta.

Expect action, Quinn doesn't take well to her favorite delivery boy's capture.

Best,

GC


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Blackened teeth, rotting like the face they sat in, gnawed at the muscled flank of a deer.

A predator had stalked the animal for hours, lurking behind it as it meandered about the forest grazing.

At times the deer had suspected its stalker. It would freeze, ears swiveling cautiously toward the sound of a suspicious snapping twig or the rustle of leaves. But, the animal's attention span was short and mostly it had remained oblivious to the raised crossbow moving through the trees. Circling nearer and nearer.

Oblivious up until the moment the air behind it whistled as something had shot swiftly towards it, and a sharp bolt had cracked through its skull, dropping the animal to the forest ground.

Hidden in the dense underbrush of that Georgia forest, Daryl had let out a relieved sigh when he heard the muffled thump of a body in the dirt. Relaxing his muscled arms so that the weighty crossbow he hefted dropped to his side; he had given his body a moment of rest. _Fuckin' finally._

Unfortunately, while he recuperated, two other beings beat the hunter to his catch.

The first was a lone corpse. Drawn to the scent of newly spilled blood, it had stumbled upon the animal and immediately set upon feasting. If the monster had still possessed a fully functioning brain, it would have rejoiced in finding such an easy meal. With each tear from its putrid mouth, it poisoned the fresh meat.

Much like the deer it now devoured had been in the moments before its death, the corpse was oblivious to the approach of the steps of the second pair of feet that beat the hunter to his deer.

Small paces wove through the thinning trees that led from the quarry camp, carelessly rustling through the underbrush in search of solitude.

Jacqui needed space. Some time alone with her thoughts.

The trip to Atlanta had taken quite a toll on her, both body and mind. Even as she paced through the soft leaves of the forest on aching legs, away from camp and miles away from that dreadful deathtrap, she could still hear the groans of the dead. Echoing in the back of her head. Never could she have imagined this horrifying world she now lived in, where each step, no matter how cautious, seemed to bring her closer to death.

Her mind kept circling back to a moment in the back of the box truck, just as the sheriff had hit the gas pedal, when she swore she had heard a man yell for help. A strangled, pained yell. _Merle._

At the time she had brushed the sound off as her imagination. Closing her eyes and turning away from the reaching hands of rotting corpses as Morales had slammed the back door of the truck closed, because there couldn't have been a man back there. They were all in the truck. All safe, against the odds.

But now she knew better. They had left him there to die, without a second glance over their shoulders, and that fact would haunt her the rest of her life. Which may not be that much longer, she thought as she picked at the small green leaves of a low hanging branch in her path.

The sounds of the dead groaning grew louder in her head, and she stopped for a moment. Small feet tapping anxiously as she stood, listening and wondering if she was beginning to lose her mind. _Was that the sound of tearing flesh?_

Then she saw it.

Only yards away, kneeling on the leafy forest floor as it ripped at the side of a dear with its blackened and bloody fingers, was one of the dead.

A scream tore from her throat, and Jacqui ran with all of her strength back towards the camp. Leaves and dust floating in the warm air in her wake.

* * *

Strong arms swung blunt objects with merciless force down on the body of the corpse. Beating it away from the shredded meat of the deer it had been chewing on, and on to its back in a cloud of blackened blood.

It lay there, groaning and reaching towards its assailants, while Rick and Shane muscled blow after blow. Each filling their strikes with fervent anger and frustration, although from vastly different causes.

Jacqui was now safely back in camp, huddled in the arms of Andrea and Amy. Allowing the blondes to calm her with gentle words. The two men of the law had passed her in their dash toward the sound of her scream, and Jacqui had gestured them toward the deceased intruder. Watching as they had sprinted down her recent path through the trees with weapons raised. Expressions deadly.

Dale had followed in the men's wake, toting an axe and a worried frown on his wrinkled face. They hadn't had an incident this close to camp in weeks, and it worried the retiree.

The axe fell on the neck of the squirming corpse, cleanly severing its head and causing its clawing limps to fall to its sides, useless.

"Isn't often that they wander up here, " Dale remarked to the sheriff that stood at his side. Reading the concern in the man's knitted brows.

Rick didn't respond, too absorbed in analyzing the corpse before him. His hands tightened around the crowbar he held as he glared down at the beaten body. This was much too close to his family for comfort, and the realization that nowhere would be safe forever in this strange world he had awoken to was yet again slapping him in the face. Just like it had when he had sat in the familiar living room of his old neighbors house with Morgan and his son, with the dead scratching tirelessly at the door.

As Dale and Shane discussed the potential migration habits of the dead, the sheriff's thoughts shifted to the duffle of guns that lie abandoned in Atlanta. They would need the firepower if this little group wanted to survive, Rick knew that. Especially if the dead were venturing so close. He needed to go back.

Crunching in the underbrush jolted the lean man from his plotting. In a flash of silver Rick drew his gun from his hip holster and turned toward the offending noise. Stepping in front of Dale like a shield.

At his shoulder he felt Shane do the same. The broader man raised his rifle to his eye and aggressively widened his stance to cover his partner's side. Ready for an attack as the pair watched something on two legs weave through the trees into the clearing.

"Motherfucker stole my kill… Ya think we could salvage any of the bits he didn't chew?" Came a gravelly deep woods Georgia accent.

Both lawmen lowered their weapons as they watched a dirty and sweat drenched Daryl Dixon begin kicking angrily at the body of the offending corpse. A colorful stream of curses pouring from his mouth as Dale tried to calm him down. To no avail.

This must be the brother, Rick thought, cocking a thin eyebrow and evaluating the man as he raised his weapon and shot a bolt through the head of the decapitated walker, murmuring something like: "Fuck, don't ya'll know you gotta get the brain?"

Cut-off flannel, rough accent, and a weighty looking crossbow. He looked every bit like one of those redneck criminals the sheriff and Shane would have found fighting out back of one of the local dive-bars before the turn. High as a kite and twice as drunk. Not exactly the type of character he wanted in close quarters with his son... But even as the harsh judgments crossed his mind, Rick felt an intense guilt creeping into his body. Shrouding his biases. No matter who this man was, the world had changed and evened the playing field when Rick had accidentally abandoned his brother to die.

A fact that the already enraged hunter was still ignorant to.

"Merle!" Daryl called as he strode toward camp with a line of recently killed squirrels swinging over his shoulder, "Get yer ugly ass out here, I caught us some squirrel!" Ice blue eyes darted around the site, looking for the familiar grey head and black leather that always marked his brother. _Where is that asshole._

As Shane and Rick sped after the angry bowman, preparing for outrage, across the camp two heads shot to attention at the sound of the hunter's voice.

Glenn's fist shot out and struck Quinn's roughly branded shoulder with panicked force. "He's back!" he whispered, brown eyes widening as they met the gaze of the freckled woman at his side. Looking to her for their next move.

Her mouth was set in a grim line, brows furrowed and eyes confident. A calm contrast to the waves of wild hair that fell unbound around her face and down the sailor's back. She carefully finished screwing on the final black metal piece of her handgun she'd been cleaning, the silencer, before leaping out of the back of her Subaru. Drawing Glenn to jump to her shoulder with a jerk of her head as she strode towards the rapidly raising voices sounding from the other side of the RV.

"You did what?!" _Daryl…_

The sailor broke into a sprint with the sound of feet scuffling in the dirt. _A fight._

Black boots skidding as she rounded the side of the RV, Quinn had barely a moment to evaluate the scene before choosing her course of action.

Three men yelling.

Rick. Shane. Daryl. Daryl in a chokehold. Shane had Daryl in a chokehold. _I'll kill him._

Quinn kicked with the full force of her body into the back of the deputy's left knee, while simultaneously pulling him backwards by wrapping a strong arm around his neck. Throwing him to the ground on his back and forcing him to release his grip on the hunter due to sheer shock of the attack.

The crowd of survivors that had gathered as the three men argued gasped with shock at the sailor's sudden and explosive intervention.

Freshly cleaned handgun aimed at the broad man's head as he lay in the settling dust, the sailor growled, "Touch him again and I thread a bullet between your brows." Her aim unflinching even as she heard Lori make a noise of protest from somewhere over her shoulder.

Shane raised his hands in defeat from his place on the ground, eyes wide with shock as he looked up at the mess of curly hair and freckles that had seemed to drop from the clear blue Georgia sky.

Daryl had been dragged to his knees by the deputy's grip as the larger man had been thrown backwards. He knelt in the dirt a couple feet away from the man, panting heavily as air finally filled his lungs again. He brought a hand up to rub his now bruised and reddened throat, eyes locked on the barrel of a large silver handgun that was now pointed at his head.

"Let's all just calm down and talk about this like civilized people," ordered Rick from the other end of the silver handgun, head cocked as he glanced between the sailor and the hunter. "Can we do that?" he continued, voice slightly pleading as his eyes lingered on the silenced weapon pointed at his partner's curly head.

"Dunno Quickdraw, can we? I'm not the man trying to strangle folks." Quinn hissed back, furious glare never leaving the deputy in the dirt, not willing to back down so easily.

A soft chirping whistle drew her attention to the hunter knelt nearby.

"I'm good, Lee. I'm good." Daryl muttered quietly, only for the sailor, waiting to see the soft blue of her eyes and the taut line of her arms relax the weapon to her side before swiftly pushing himself off the ground.

Long legs making quick work of the distance between them, the hunter moved to stand next to the freckled woman, bumping his forearm against her offered limb when he reached her. Both stood tall, heads high and eyes defiant, as they stood shoulder to shoulder, aggressively staring down the pair of lawmen.

Rick had lowered his weapon as well. Although cautiously. The sheriff had watched the redneck and the Navy officer settle into an intimidating pose, snarls plastered on their faces, and had raised his hands in a show of peace after pulling his partner to his feet. He didn't want to further aggravate the situation. Especially when teamwork would soon be crucial. He would need the sailor on his side.

Apparently civility would be harder to achieve then he had anticipated, Rick thought as he examined the two survivors before him. _Probably shouldn't have threatened the man whose brother you already may have killed…_

Glenn, realizing the fight was now over, stepped away from his place in front of the crowd. He had been carefully keeping them from interfering and potentially getting hurt, subtly positioning himself between them and the action after he had darted out from behind the RV following the sailor.

He joined the quartet of ruffled warriors now standing somewhat peacefully in pairs facing one another. Creating a bridge of sorts, feeling like Switzerland in an international negotiation. Although he wasn't exactly neutral, the young Korean thought, smiling to himself from his spot at Quinn's side.

"So what's the plan?" he said quietly as he dropped a hand on both the sheriff and the sailor's shoulders, drawing a slight smirk from the lips of his favorite SEAL.

"Tell us where to look an' were gone," came the voice of the hunter, still strained from the recent impact on his neck. Brows drawn, shadowing his dirty face while he glared at the sheriff. Fingers clenched around his crossbow with anger and anticipation.

"He'll show you." A shrill voice stated from behind the group, "Isn't that right?" Lori continued, thin arms crossed over her chest as her eyes searched the face of her husband. Disapproval evident.

Rick nodded, examining the dirt and grass around his feet as he responded, "I'm going back."

* * *

Five pairs of feet jumped from the box truck onto the cracking concrete of an empty parking lot. Their landing the only sound besides the buzz of insects and the distant growls of the dead lurking in the city streets.

The stillness of Atlanta was shocking. Although all present had experienced it before, the lack of life caught them off guard. The world was still now. The only movements were made in stealth, or by the dead. Such a contrast to the former bustle of this metropolis.

Five pairs of eyes scanned the area carefully as the little group gathered by the side of the truck. Weapons raised and ready while they talked through their next steps.

A rescue and an extraction mission.

Quinn examined the sheriff at her side with a dark eyebrow cocked. The man wanted to do the mission that was closest first? There wasn't this sort of time to waste while Merle could be lying in that damn loading bay dying, the sailor thought as she adjusted the thick strap of her snow rifle across her chest.

Luckily before she snapped at the lawman, or worse Daryl had attacked him, Glenn piped up. Assuring Rick that the loading bay was nearer and therefor should be the first mission.

That wasn't quite true, Quinn knew because she had spent most of the truck ride staring at her map, but it was so slight a lie that Glenn seemed to tell it convincingly. For once in his life. The sailor gave his shoulder a little squeeze of appreciation as Rick began talking them through the entry plan she had helped him formulate earlier.

In and out, real quick. Try not to waste any ammo.

They had to find Merle, fast.

Breaking into a quiet jog with weapons up and heads swiveling, the group fell into line.

Glenn in the lead with his borrowed silenced handgun, and Quinn close to his shoulder with both knives drawn and ready. Carefully guarding his back. They moved in practiced synchronized motions, once again the reliable run-team they had been.

Daryl paced at the sailor's heels, his crossbow moving with the swivel of his head. Missing nothing as they weaved through street after street. Piercing gaze looking for signs of his brother at every turn.

T-dog and Rick brought up the rear; neither as naturally attentive as those they followed. Too distracted by the groans of the dead that seemed to grow loader with every step. And with the anticipation of seeing the older Dixon again. _Let him be alive, god please let him be alive._

The team was fortunate that only three corpses had ventured near enough to notice them in their run from the parking lot to the metal garage door of the loading bay.

All had been easily dispatched by a pair of flashing knives at the front of the line. Each a small distraction from Quinn's growing worry as they neared where the veteran had been abandoned.

The bay door was closed. A fact that reassured them that there was hope for Merle yet, as T-dog stated firmly that it had been open when the truck had pulled away. He could be safe inside.

The five sweaty and anxious survivors stood before the metal barrier, picturing what lay behind.

After a moment of hesitation, his damp face searching those of his companions as if to ask: 'you ready?' T-dog wrenched open the door of the bay.

It made a string of metallic clacking sounds as it spun back into the ceiling, masking the footfalls of the group as they ran inside. A little to loud for their comfort.

Empty.

Quinn deflated as she glanced around the gray concrete garage bay, searching for signs of the veteran and finding none.

From her side she heard Daryl give a frustrated howl. The air around him seemed to crackle as he breathed deeply in an effort to calm himself. Making the hair at the back of her neck stand on end. Raw emotion. The lines of his grimace deepened with anger and grief as he glared around the room.

An empty room. How was that possible, she thought, the door leading into the bay from the main building appeared to be closed tightly. How could it be empty when there was no other escape? The sailor flipped her wild ponytail over her shoulder, scanning the room again in search of clues from under furrowed brows. There had to be something. She had to have missed something.

Not empty.

Letting out a chirping whistle as she went, Quinn paced toward a small object resting on the concrete in a pool of blood. She crouched at the side of the pool, peering at the thing near the middle. _What the fuck._

A severed hand lie before her.

A sharp intake of air from close to her head alerted the sailor that Daryl had joined her at the edge of the pool. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he examined the scene, trying to create a story that made it make sense.

He stretched out a bare arm and carefully plucked the hand from out of the blood, bringing it up to his face for closer inspection. Holding it by the thumb, he stated, "This is Merle's," as he glared at the marks of human teeth scrapped into the skin of the pinky and ring finger. "Looks like he got bit 'n cut it off to stop from turnin'," the hunter continued, holding the hand in front of Quinn's freckled nose so she could see the marks.

She hummed her response as she glanced from the hand to around the room and back. Looking something else.

The sailor found it a few feet away, the few drops of blood that meant Merle had left them a trail to follow after all. Blood can be such a reliable breadcrumb, she thought, mind wandering to that mission in the Syrian mountains for a moment as she adjusted the snow-camouflaged sniper rifle at her back. _Red on the pure white of snow really pops._

She jerked her head in the direction of the drops, drawing the hunter's gaze. "Must 've worked," she rasped as the rest of the group gathered near the pool of blood, continuing, " Cause he's seemed to escaped."

While Quinn and Daryl traced the trail of blood, she heard Glenn exclaim, "He cut off his own fucking hand?!"

The outburst drew a snort from the hunter at her side; his ice blue eyes met hers as a small smirk formed on his lips. "Ain't nobody kill Merle, but Merle," he threw over his shoulder to the young Korean. Holding up the severed hand as evidence. "Now spread out 'n look for blood spots," the hunter growled.

After a moments silence as five pairs of eyes had scoured different parts of the floor for the trail, the sheriff called, "Over here!"

He was ahead of the sailor and Daryl, near the sidewall of the bay.

Heads rising to the sound of his call, the rest of the group flocked to Rick. Jogging over with expressions ranging from hope to concern.

Blue eyes widening and eyebrows shooting towards her hairline Quinn took in the scene before her. Broken glass and blood. _He's losing too much blood._

There was a service entry door tucked away in this corner of the bay that had somehow slipped by her, she noticed, swearing under her breath. The glass window that made up the top half of the door was shattered into sharply jagged spikes along the sill. Some of which were tinted red with what could only be blood. Lots of blood.

"He must have punched through the glass to unlock it." T-dog stated, a large hand rubbing the back of his bald head as he grimaced at the mess.

Grabbing a handful of Daryl's flannel and dragging him along as she went, Quinn pushed through the little group to pull open the blood covered door. Merle's time was running out, she could feel it.

This action jolted the hunter out of his shock from finding so much of his brother's blood and he quickly moved to follow her as she rasped, "C'mon we can't afford this standing, we have to move. If this all is his then he's lost a lot of blood and he won't be able to get much farther on his own."

The blood drops were larger now then they had been in the bay, contrasting with the shiny white tile of the service hallway. _Red on white really pops._

Occasionally Quinn would notice a smear of blood on the beige wallpaper, about at waist height, where Merle had stumbled into the wall for support. A shiver ran down her spine as she lightly touched the corner of one such stain with the point of a knife. There was too much blood _._

Another door. This one undamaged and hanging open, a small pool of blood resting on the threshold.

Merle had stopped there.

It was a kitchen, with a menagerie of cookware, industrial ovens and a number of burners. The team fanned out and searched the little workspace for any signs of blood, looking carefully over shelves and countertops. Pots and pans.

Rick walked over to one of the burners, poking at what look like burnt meat caked around the metal. The lean man grimaced, gesturing to the charred material. "He cauterized the wound," Rick stated quietly.

Quinn felt a weight on her shoulder and glanced back to see Glenn leaning on her, a hand over his mouth as his face edged close to green.

"Jesus," He muttered, and the sailor reached a hand back to pat his nauseous head. _Jesus is right._

A row of windows that lay in the wall adjacent to the burners drew her eye. One of which was open. She cocked an eyebrow and gestured Daryl in that direction with a slight incline of her head.

The hunter immediately moved to inspect the opening, peering carefully at the sill in search of blood. The window lead to a fire escape, the rusty metal ladder of which was pulled down as close to the ground as it would reach.

"He got out here."


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, just my OC's.

* * *

He had gotten out of the short canvas chair and flopped down to lie on his back on the top of the RV, smoke swirling from his mouth as he had moved. Listening intently to her raspy voice as the sailor had sat nearby, dragging on the stub of a cigarette with his eyes on the scattered stars above.

It had been one of those quiet early mornings in between the frequent scouting runs to the highway. With a gentle breeze and clear skies. The galaxy of stars painted so perfectly against the blackness Quinn could almost have had forgotten the turn. _Almost._

The sailor and the veteran had swapped stories of war and other escapades many times in the weeks before necessity forced the camp to make that run into Atlanta.

During the bright and sweltering days of those weeks the camp had thrived, a constant buzz of chatter between survivors filling the air as they slowly learned to live together.

But, the dark early morning hours had been reserved for them. Two servicemen comfortably reveling in the peace of dawn, the time a shared crutch against the constant creep of suffocating memories and worries for the days to come.

Only Daryl had ever dared to join them, content to lie and listen silently to the tales passing between the only two people who held his trust. But those occasions had been rare.

That crisp dark morning while Merle had lain smoking comfortably on his back, Quinn had revealed something. A story that few knew all of. Rubbing a jagged scar hidden beneath her wild mane as she had explained in her quiet rasp.

The SEAL wasn't sure what had made her divulge this delicate piece of her history. Perhaps it was the camaraderie she found in another sailor. Or because Merle had always reminded her achingly of her father, as he too had been a fiercely proud and loyal man.

Or perhaps it had been the empathy found in a simple statement.

Earlier that same morning Merle had spun a piece about an old shoulder injury he got back in Kuwait. It had been a nasty fight; he had barely gotten out of with his life. Shouldn't have gotten out with his life…

He could still feel the scar tissue when he moved the joint, a constant reminder of a painful memory.

"Like a punishment from God," he had said.

The sentence had struck her, as the words had often floated in her head as well.

 _Like a punishment from God for escaping death too many times…_

Quinn stared out the open window of the kitchen, examining the chipping paint of the fire escape that had allowed the veteran to do just that. Pondering his statement from that morning under the stars as she half-listened to the words of the four men near her, and realizing that trusting in Merle had lifted a heavy burden from her mind.

One she didn't want to again bear alone. _Don't you die on me Dixon, we had a deal._

The weight of Glenn's arm as he moved to lean an elbow on her shoulder drew Quinn back to the situation at hand. She looked over at the kid, his mouth was set in a thin line, and his brows were creased in the way they always did when he was deciding on bravery. The sailor could see the wheels turning in his brown eyes, planning routes on his mental map.

Going off this and the feral glare being shot at Rick Grimes by the hunter standing at her left, it seemed as if her side of the argument on how to continue the search had been defeated. The search for Merle would have to wait until they were all comfortably armed.

It was time to run for the guns.

"I'm not strolling the streets of Atlanta with just my good intentions, okay?" came T-dog's voice as the sailor refocused on the conversation.

* * *

Two men at one side of the alley, one man at the other, so escape could be in either direction. The sailor perched in a window with her rifle trained to watch her delivery boy's back while he was in the middle.

It wasn't too shabby of a plan, she thought as she pressed her eye to the scope of her rifle, scouting the street before the action started. Although Quinn would have much preferred to be running at his side. To guard his back with knives rather than through crosshairs. But she had given Glenn her full support, wanting the kid to know that she had complete confidence him. Just as he always unquestioningly trusted her.

"You got this," she had rasped as she had affectionately tapped the bill of the young Korean's cap. Final words of encouragement before the group had split off to their assigned positions where they all now stood, waiting.

A whistle reached her ears, and Quinn tensed, swiveling to face Daryl's end of the alley. Glenn entered her crosshairs in a run as she saw the hunter pull back the chain link gate and let the kid pass.

 _Here we go._

The area around the tank, and what had was left of the noble steed Rick had ridden down the street, seemed to crawl with corpses. Still frenzied from the noise and action of the survivor's previous run. Some clawed with dead fingers at the metal walls of the tank, growling hungrily. Convinced that the sheriff was still inside for them to eat, like a famished teen holding a can of soup with no can opener.

Glenn sped down the concrete, a streak of youthful energy as he weaved past the dead. Tennis shoes tapping a staccato beat as he dodged. Just out of reach of their groping arms if they were to notice him, but they hadn't yet.

He skidded to a halt in front of the bag of guns and quickly stooped to hoist the large load onto his shoulder.

Two bodies fell behind him.

Glenn spun on his heels to the thump of them hitting the ground; each had a bullet hole in the center of their forehead. They had been much closer then he realized, he thought, eyes widening slightly with panic as other of the dead began to near. Seeming to have caught his scent.

Another thump sounded close to his back as the kid took off running again. The corpse falling back, bullet in its brain, millimeters before it would have touched him.

Glenn hurdled a fire hydrant, duffle of guns jostling on his back as he landed. Still running. Heading back toward the side of the alley where Daryl stood waiting, as a crowd of walkers now blocked the other direction.

It was a straight shot now.

His path clearing as he went, approaching corpses falling even before he had to dodge. Clouds of blood erupting from their heads as they collapsed out of his way, brought down by soundless shots.

Quinn let out a little sigh of relief as she saw her delivery boy reach the chain link gate through her scope. They were almost home free, and she'd only had to use like six bullets. Not too shabby.

But something was wrong.

She couldn't see Daryl anywhere. The sailor leaned as far out the window as she could, aiming towards the alley. But her angle from the window only allowed her to see the first few feet behind the chain link fence.

Quinn tensed, fingering the trigger of her rifle as a yell sounded from that direction.

"Ayuadame! Ayuadame!" came a frightened voice in Spanish.

The sailor swore loudly to herself, lowering her rifle from her eye and making a dash across the small office she was in. Heading for the alley-facing open window that lead to the fire escape she had used to get in.

None of her boys spoke Spanish. Something was definitely wrong.

More yelling, and what sounded like the scuffling feet of men fighting filled the little office as the sailor leapt over a desk. The last barrier between her and the open window. _The fuck is happening._

Jamming her rifle into her shoulder, not even bothering to look through her scope, she fired off a round as she ran out onto the metal landing. It struck a corpse in the head that had been about to tear at Glenn with one of its bloody hands.

But that didn't really help the kid with his current situation, she noticed as she finally saw what was happening.

Unfamiliar men were dragging him into a car, their eyes darting around to find the shooter that had brought down the offending walker.

Quinn froze. These were men, living men. How was she supposed to respond to this? Every ounce of her training told her to save her man, to kill the enemy. But how could any living person be an enemy in this time where the dead walked? Especially civilians like these clearly were.

"Oy! Drop him! Detengan! Detengan!" She yelled with her weapon trained on the car, hoping they would respond and save her from having to put a bullet between their eyes.

But the pause cost her an open shot, and the men shoved Glenn into the trunk of the car and started to speed down the street. Still yelling aggressively and running to the edge of the metal platform, she fired off two rounds at the escaping vehicle. Cursing when she only managed to shatter the back window and a mirror as the car turned out of her range of sight.

Black boot shooting out to forcefully kick the railing of the fire escape in frustration, she glared darkly out at the street. The metallic clang of her strike echoed in the alley as stream of curses and death threats poured from her mouth. Blue eyes creasing at the corners, she examined the road that the car had taken, trying to decide if she should pursue on foot immediately or wait for the rest of the squad. Captive situations were always so delicate; she didn't want to further risk her young friend's life by waiting to long to follow. Especially with the way the world was going these days. Those men may need some immediate incentive not to simply kill Glenn, like an angry SEAL knocking on their door.

"Quinn, down here!" Rick called from the ground below her.

From her spot on the fourth story level of the fire escape she peered down at the scene in the alley. Putting the pieces together.

The sheriff, T-dog, and a battered and murderous looking Daryl were circled around a boy. Trapping him against the wall with their stance while the hunter menacingly pointed his crossbow at the teen's head. Apparently they now had a captive of their own, how convenient.

Slightly behind the men lay the duffle bag of guns. _Well, at least we're armed now…_

"Bring him up, the office is clear." She rasped to them with a gesture towards the window at her back. Questioning tactics spinning through her mind as she examined the teen with an eyebrow cocked. The sailor was well trained in the methods of the Army Field Manual, the Military's bible of interrogation techniques, but this was a civilian adolescent… not exactly the usual situation.

However the difference between how Quinn interacted with military versus civilians was beginning to blur with each day, as these violent times seemed to constantly call upon her more violent behavior.

Swinging her rifle over her back, she moved to climb back in the building. The sound of feet on the metal ladder following behind her as she went. Yells of protest tearing from the teen's throat as Daryl forcefully dragged him along.

They tied the kid to a chair with an extension cord found plugged in behind the lone desk, and stood in silence for a few minutes as the he continued to throw curses at them. All trying to decide the best method of interrogation.

Rick gave it the first shot.

Using his time tested reasoning techniques that had always served him well in law enforcement, he crouched down to the kid's level and met his eyes with a hard gaze. Calm voice at least managing to shut the teen up for a few minutes.

Behind the sheriff, his three companions watched and waited.

Like a caged lion, Daryl stalked back and forth behind the interrogator. Hair a mess, and clothes dirtier than usual from his tussle with Glenn's kidnappers, he glared at the teen. Gaze so intense and wrought with rage that the kid couldn't help but glance at him regularly. Eyes widening fearfully when he did.

The hunter wanted to fight something. Fight those men who had attacked him, fight the walkers in the street, anything. The frustration, grief, and anger he'd been trying to manage throughout the day was close to breaking free. The gruff man was especially furious that he had been caught so off guard by those damn Latinos. The hunter prided himself in his observant-ness, so his ego ached nearly as much as the bruises forming on his ribs and face. The only thing keeping Daryl from lunging forward and beating the shit out of their mouthy captive was the information the little fucker may have on where Glenn was taken.

T leaned against the window that the sailor had been stationed at earlier; his mouth set in a frown as his watched the hunter pace in front of him. He wanted to keep his hands and his conscience clean. Determined to stay out of the questioning if possible.

Perched on the desk that stood quite near the captive and the interrogator, like a front row seat at the theatre, Quinn was fiddling with one of her long combat blades. Flipping the sharp weapon through her fingers with dexterity as she watched the face of the teen. Analyzing his expressions with a near unblinking gaze. Waiting for an opening.

The constant weight of her stare drew the kid's eyes almost as often as the hunter's pacing. The combination of wild hair, piercing eyes, and such a large blade so close to his face would make the kid start in his chair every time he glanced her way. Each jump pushing him closer to cracking his brave façade.

After one such visible jump the captive teen exclaimed, "Deja de mirarme!" his eyes wide as he glanced from the smirk on the woman's face to the blade flipping through her fingers.

The sailor's eyes gleamed with the satisfied grin she withheld from her mouth. _That's it. Bite, little fish._

The outburst caused Rick to fall silent and glance at Quinn; he jerked his head in a gesture for her to take his place. Reading her body language and knowing this was her opening. _Their opening_.

Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, the sailor leapt from the desk and paced to stand in front of the captive. Knife still twirling in her hand. "Te sientes valiente?" she rasped as she towered over him, one dark eyebrow cocked.

When he made no effort to respond outside of a startled stare, she continued, "Cursing and spitting like a whiny little bitch? Does that make you feel like a man? Eres patético." Voice lowering into growl as she dropped into a crouch before the captive.

She stilled the knife in her hand, and, bringing it to her mouth, slowly ran her tongue along the flat of the blade. Gaze unwaveringly on the kid's face. Watching as his eyes traced the movements of her mouth, and his jaw fell slack.

At her back her three companions stood silent, watching intently. Even Daryl had stopped his pacing when he had heard the sailor's familiar rasp speaking Spanish.

Leaning in closer to the teen, so that she could feel the rapid warmth of his frightened breaths, Quinn moved the blade from her tongue to press the flat side into his upper thigh. A subtle threat to his manhood.

The move drew a small yelp from the kid.

Her expression morphing into a snarl, the sailor muttered, "Speak, now," freckled nose inches from his face. "Or I'll test just how brave you really are, boy," she threatened; emphasizing her words with a little more pressure to her blade.

The sailor felt someone move to stand behind her, a pant leg brushing her shoulder as she crouched, and suddenly a familiar severed hand entered her peripheral vision. Dangling by the thumb next to the captive's head.

"This is from the last fucker tha' tested 'er." Came the gravelly voice of Daryl Dixon above her head, "I think we need a matchin' set."

The sailor could hear the threat in his tone, and smirked as she watched the kid's eyes grow enormous as he stared at the hand. _Nice, ace._

"Fine, fine I'll tell you where we at! Just get this crazy bitch away from me!" The teen exclaimed, jerking his head away from the severed hand.

* * *

Further down the roof the sailor saw T-dog pop up his head with one of the rifle's from the bag of guns in hand, responding to Rick's gesture from down below.

The negotiations happening on the ground level were turning south, angry voices from both sides were floating up to her ears as the sailor lay with her scope pressed to her eye. Remaining hidden as T showed himself.

The man focused in her crosshairs, Guillermo, was now demanding the guns from Rick. Gesturing animatedly to the armed men around him as he threatened blood. The return of the kid that Daryl held firmly with one arm was apparently not enough.

"I see two options," the leader stated with a raise of his hand. Pausing dramatically as shuffling happened on the roof across from where the sailor lay. His men responding to the signal. Continuing as three figures appeared on the roof, "You come back with Miguel and my bag of guns, everybody walks. Or you come back locked and loaded. We'll see which side spills more blood."

She shot to her feet, rifle raised and aimed aggressively at the opposite building as two men shoved a hooded person close to the edge of the roof. _Glenn._ Muzzle jumping from man to man as she forced herself not to panic.

"Drop him, and I'll bleed you all dry!" she growled, harsh voice ricocheting in the courtyard and drawing the men's attention from below. Some aimed their weapons up in her direction, thrown off guard by the appearance of another assailant.

On the ground she could hear Daryl and Rick both echoing her explosion of anger at the threat. The curses flowing from the hunter as he brandished his crossbow with rage would have made a proper woman blush.

It seemed they would take the latter option.

They took a little over an hour gathering themselves back in the little office off the alley. Miguel whining as they strapped numerous weapons to their bodies. Preparing for war.

The tale of the 300 Spartans floated through Quinn's mind as they paced back towards the abandoned building that held at least a dozen armed men and their captive comrade. Outnumbered, maybe out gunned. Although, she was hoping for a different end to their tale.

When they entered the building the little group was immediately surrounded. Men wielding blunt objects and the occasional handgun circling closer as Rick lead the quartet into the middle of the room to stand before Guillermo.

Rick was pushing Miguel in front of him, and had the large duffle of guns strung across his back. Quinn stood at his shoulder, white rifle raised and aimed at the forehead of the man before them. Behind her T and Daryl had their weapon's raised and pointed at the circling men. All covering one another.

Quinn stepped forward to stand in front of the sheriff as the man averted his eyes to cut the extension cord around Miguel's wrists. Weapon unwavering as she glared murderously forward. Refusing to leave the sheriff vulnerable.

"Now, where is our man?" Rick asked as he released the teen to run back to his gang.

A smile spread across Guillermo's face as he responded, eyes shifting to each of the survivor's livid faces, "I ain't letting him go, man. My dogs are hungry, I think I'll cut the kid up into little pieces and let them feast."

Before the final words had left his mouth, Rick had drawn his large silver pistol and moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with the sailor. "You said come locked and loaded," the sheriff growled, "We're here."

The quartet stepped closer together in one movement, tensing up and closing ranks to stand back to back as the men around them drew guns from everywhere.

From her left, Quinn heard a rough voice mutter, "We're gonna live through this Lee. We got shit to do." The bare arm of the hunter drew her attention for a breath as he flexed against her shoulder, moving his crossbow to point from one approaching man to another.

Her eyes moved quickly around the room as she hummed her response, counting and planning _. Yeah we do._

"Felipe!"

The voice of an elderly woman floated through the room, shortly followed by the figure herself, drawing the attention of every pair of eyes.

She was short, entirely gray, and dressed in a nightdress and robe. Quite a contrast to the room of armed men she stepped slowly through. Looking for 'Felipe.'

The quartet from the quarry watched the woman with a shared expression of confused curiosity. All lowering their weapons slightly when she headed their way, addressing Rick on the behalf of her grandson Felipe. Who it turns out was one of the men who kidnapped Glenn.

The abuela seemed quite concerned that Rick, who was still dressed in his full uniform, was there to arrest the man. Only calming down when the sheriff and the rest of the quartet assured her they were simply looking for their friend. No one was getting arrested.

"The nice Asian boy?" The little woman said when Rick described Glenn, "Yes, he's with Mr. Gilbert."

A small hand, curled with arthritis, grasped the sheriff's and began pulling him through the crowd of men. All of which were lowering their weapons, faces a mix of relief and annoyance.

The entirety of the room followed Rick and the elderly woman, the three runners awkwardly mingling with the armed gang as they paced through a few short hallways into an indoor basketball court.

Daryl and Quinn stubbornly stayed shoulder to shoulder as they walked. Forcing the crowd to part for them. Weapons still slightly raised, refusing to be caught off guard amongst people who had recently been enemies. Not entirely convinced that this wasn't an elaborate trap.

"What the fuck is going on here," the sailor whispered to the hunter, an eyebrow cocked as she peered around the large open room.

Old people. Lots of old people.

A bare shoulder nudged her own, and the hunter pointed his crossbow across the room at a person wearing a baseball cap facing away from them. "Look." He muttered as he quickened his pace, heading in the gestured direction.

Quinn's blue eyes widened as she followed, grabbing a handful of the back of the hunter's shirt in her surprise. Causing the stoic man to jump slightly and glance back at her. _That was a very familiar cap_.

"Glenn?" she called from her place behind Daryl, her raspy voice full of hope. Hand tightening on her handful of shirt as she waited for a response.

The man in the cap turned, a familiar face greeting her with a brilliant smile.

 _On thank god._

* * *

Thanks for reading!

Spanish phrases in order of appearance:

"Help me, Help me!"

"Stop! Stop!"

"Stop looking at me!"

"Are you feeling brave?"

"You are pathetic."

-GC


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, just my OC's.

* * *

The asphalt burned under the pounding of tired feet, it's radiating heat seeping unforgivingly through the soles of the runners' shoes. Even as the sun crept lower on the horizon and the humid Georgia air began to cool, waves of heat still rose from the black surface, distorting the scenery around their heavy legs. But the five runners pushed steadily on. Drenched in sweat, and thoroughly exhausted from the endless day.

A day that seemed to test Murphy's Law with every running step.

In the lead a long wavy ponytail swung like a metronome, its shadow rippling on the highway behind a feminine shadow. It drew the eyes of the four tired runners behind and pushed their pace cautiously faster with the drop of the sun.

Racing its decline.

Glenn watched the stream of brown hair swing in front of his nose; his panting quickening as the sailor methodically increased her speed. The sight was a familiar one.

The young man had run numerous miles following the swing of that ponytail. Over dirt, gravel, and asphalt. Through the maze of Atlanta and across endless expanses of empty road. Often in silence, with only soft footfalls to mark their presence amongst the shuffles of the dead.

He had followed her, and although there had been several narrow escapes, he had always come away safe.

A ghost of a smile floated across Glenn's face as the sailor flicked the long rope of hair away from the sweat of her neck while she ran. Despite near death, his own kidnap, a stolen truck, and everything else horrible that had happened so far on this sweltering day from hell, that familiar mane still waved before him. Leading him onward. Bloody, dirty, but yet again he was very much alive. _Thank fucking god._

So he followed her, the way he always did.

In a car, the distance between the city and their little quarry camp had seemed fairly short. A manageable distance that could be traveled in less then an hour, and just far enough away from the densely populated area to keep them safe from wandering corpses. _So far._

But traveling the miles on foot was a different beast entirely. Asphalt is merciless on tired legs. A fact the five runners were now intimately familiar with.

They had left the Vatos, the gang that had temporarily kidnapped Glenn, in high spirits. Pleased with the discovery of human decency in the group of such dangerous looking men. The gangs' dedication to the sick and the elderly in their care was admirable, and their selflessness had inspired Rick to leave several rifles from the recently obtained bag behind.

The decision had been difficult for the sheriff.

He knew that the days ahead would be just as dangerous for their group at the quarry. They had families, children to think of. His own little boy was now constantly in danger, Rick had thought with a frown tugging at his lips, Carl's little pale face floating into his mind. Firepower would be a necessity. _More valuable then gold._

But, as he had stood glaring down at the heavy bag of guns in that gymnasium full of elderly people earlier that day, contemplating his options with a slight frown, he had been given a gentle push. A firm squeeze to his shoulder had drawn his attention, and the sheriff had turned from the bag to catch a curt nod from a freckled face. Her calm eyes had searched his own, and had swiftly read the conflict in his mind.

"Go on," the sailor had rasped. _Do it._

Now the bag was lighter, jostling on his back as the sheriff ran shoulder to shoulder with T-dog over the scorching asphalt.

As was his conscience.

Their high spirits had immediately plummeted upon finding the lot where they had left the box truck completely empty.

Each had dashed around the expanse of concrete, hoping the vehicle would miraculously appear if they just kept looking. But they had found nothing.

Curses had flown freely while they had discussed their situation after Daryl almost killed T-dog for suggesting they were in the wrong lot. The hunter had only backed down when Quinn had stepped between him and the large black man, pushing him gently away with a hand in the middle of his chest and an almost unperceivable shake of her head. _Priorities, ace._

But that hadn't stopped tensions from running high. They hadn't just fought through a city of the dead, taken a captive, and rescued Glenn to get stuck in a damn parking lot.

They had jumped to numerous wild conclusions in their discussion until finally they had all settled on one likely culprit of the theft, Merle. The injured man must have seen the truck as his only means of escape and fled the city.

"He might be takin' some vengeance back ta camp. With all tha' fuckin' blood loss he ain't gonna be right in the head" Daryl had growled in frustration as he had kicked at pebbles in the now empty lot, his brows drawn in a dark glare. A few of the others had grumbled their agreement.

But, as he ran, the hunter held onto a flicker of hope that his brother wasn't actually rampaging toward the camp, even if he had been driven half mad from loss of blood.

The man he had watched his brother become in the recent weeks was above petty retaliation. Hell, Merle was borderline honorable when he was in the company of the sailor, Daryl thought as he glanced up from the asphalt to watch the steady swing of Quinn's hair. Adjusting his crossbow on his sweat soaked back as he did. The sailor had a way with the grizzled veteran. She could make him think and act with principle with just the cock of a dark eyebrow, and it astounded the hunter.

Although after seeing LT Commander Lee in action today, radiating a practiced calm that had cleared his rage-blinded mind while they had stood shoulder-to-shoulder surrounded by armed men, the younger Dixon was beginning to understand. _'Cause she does the same to you, dumbass._

The sailor was oblivious to the gaze of the hunter.

Her focus was forward, on the next step of her loping gait, the next move for the runners behind her, and the next plan for dealing with this hell they lived in.

Forcing herself to stay calm and keep her breathing steady, Quinn pushed her pace against the setting sun. They couldn't risk being out on the open road in the dark, the possibility of unseen dangers creeping out was too likely. As was the chance of getting lost. But exhaustion was wearing at her tired muscles, trying to slow her down, them all down. To get them to stop. To rest. _There is no time for rest._

If the quintet was suffering so noticeably from fatigue and dehydration, Quinn could only imagine the distress Merle must be facing. Her sweaty freckled face dropped into a small frown at the thought of her graying comrade dragging his tired limbs to that box truck, and of the struggle he would have to face to keep himself conscious after so much blood loss. Despite what the others had said, the sailor wasn't convinced that the veteran was headed back to camp. Not only was she fairly sure he wouldn't be able to navigate to the quarry in his assumed state, but she firmly believed Merle Dixon would not seek revenge. Not against his own men. Not when there was none to be sought.

An old ache flared in the sailor's skull, the exhaustion seeping into her mind and hazing her thoughts as the pounding of footfalls echoed in her ears. Blurring reality so that as the sailor's mind whirled through careful tactics, old memories danced around the edges of her eyes.

What she would give for some water…

With brows drawn to shade her eyes, Quinn squinted at the horizon, a masterpiece stained red and orange with the fall of the sun. Pondering the towering deciduous trees that lined the edges of the endless strip of asphalt as she strode onward. Or were they jagged rocks on a snowy mountain pass? The perfect white sheet undisturbed as it glistened a mirror of the warm colors in the sky. The pounding in her ears the rhythm of her tired pulse as she traveled alone rather than the feet of runners…

 _No. There is no time for this._

With a sweaty hand the sailor swept a few stray curls from her freckled brow and dropped her eyes to the ground moving beneath her. Drawing herself out of the encroach of memories with focus on the steady cadence of her feet.

Sheer will defeating the fog of exhaustion, at least for now. The mind is a delicate thing when beaten down and fatigued. No matter how strong the body.

Breathing came in heavy pants from the entire quintet, sweat running down their tired bodies and mixing with the blood and dirt that had accumulated throughout the day as they carried on. They were close now, less than a mile from the entry road that winded down to the quarry.

Gunshots.

One. Two. Then the howling of terrified screams drowned out any other sound.

Black boots soared over the cracking asphalt as Quinn broke into a sprint, exhaustion entirely forgotten. The quarry road was in sight now, they could make it to the camp before too much more blood was shed if they pushed hard enough. With a wave over her shoulder she gestured for the others to follow, immediately hearing the rapid taps of their footsteps as they pounded after her.

"Guns up. We're goin' in hot, boys," She commanded, swinging her rifle over her back to jam into her shoulder at the ready as her feet hit the gravel road.

The screams of their people and sounds of fighting scuffles grew louder as the runners tore down the gravel road, echoing hauntingly in their ears and pushing their pace.

A corpse popped out of the woods lining the road in front of them, smelling the approach of living flesh.

The sailor heard the hunter draw his newly acquired pistol from his waistband as he ran at her side. With a bang and a barely visible cloud of blood in the darkening air, the dead man dropped.

"At least this ain't from Merle," Daryl panted to her, his blue eyes squinting forward as he scanned the road to find more corpses.

And find them he did.

Before the sailor could reply, the five runners skidded into the clearing that held their camp, and set eyes upon the chaos.

The dead had come in force, swarming the tents in search of living flesh as the survivors ran wildly in every direction. Some wielding blunt objects as their only defense against the gnash of bloody teeth. The dusty ground was splattered with the blood of both the dead and the living, and the air swam with piercing screams and sporadic gunshots. Everywhere they looked the quintet found corpses, and the terrified eyes of their friends as they battled for their lives.

They split, fanning out into the camp while they fired round after round into the bodies of the assailing dead. Each buzzing with adrenaline that threatened to skew their aim as they ran through the turmoil.

One. Two... Five… The sailor's rifle recoiled into her shoulder as she moved quickly through the camp, picking off corpses as she weaved. It astounded the freckled woman that this many had managed to stumble upon them, they must be running out of food. A fact that was troubling for many reasons, she thought with a brows drawn in a glare as she set sights on her next target.

"Quinn!"

Dust swirled around her feet as Quinn spun towards the sound of a child calling her name. Rifle trained ahead as she turned, expecting the worst.

A little girl was dashing towards her, eyes wide with fear and blonde hair a mess as the child barely outpaced the corpses on her tail. _Sophia._

"Hold onto me, kid," Quinn rasped as she pulled the girl into her arms, so that Sophia wrapped her limbs around the sailor's body like a koala. The girl buried her head in Quinn's shoulder and held on tightly as tears began to stream down her face into the sailor's shirt.

"Don't let go," The sailor rasped in the most comforting tone she could manage as she brought her rifle back up to the ready around the small girls frame. Quickly firing off rounds into the brains of her gruesome pursuers.

Trying not to jostle the crying child, the sailor ran back into the thick of the fight, rifle recoiling into her shoulder next to Sophia's head as she fired.

A hungry moan sounded near her ear and the sailor spun on her heels just in time to leap back from the reaching hands of a large dead man. "Just keep your eyes closed," Quinn whispered as Sophia let out a little yelp as the rifle again jolted near her little body, dropping the offending corpse.

A whoosh of air passed by the sailor's ear while she was watching her shot break through the corpses skull, and she heard the heavy thump of a body collapsing behind her. Sophia tightened her grip on Quinn's torso as the older woman moved to follow the sound. The sailor smothered her gasp, so as not to alert the child of how close they had just been to being eaten. Behind her lay another corpse, only inches from her feet, a sturdy crossbow bolt protruding from its forehead.

"I told ya we we're gonna live through this," came a gravelly voice at her side as a muscled arm entered her vision. Offering his forearm.

Quinn bumped her sweaty limb against it, a slight smile on her blood-smeared face as she met the ice blue eyes of Daryl Dixon. "Yeah, we got shit to do," She rasped while she kicked at the bolt-impaled dead man.

Gunshots were only for the skulls of fallen corpses now, and there were no screams.

Just the sobbing of the terrified, but still miraculously alive, survivors.

* * *

The sun had risen, bright and hot, into a clear blue Georgia sky. With not a single cloud obstructing the perfect expanse of blue, like the water of a clear lake when perfectly still. A pure and natural beauty.

But as blunt objects fell on the skulls of the dead, leaving plumes of blood on the dusty grass and dirt below, the survivors had no mind for beauty.

They had each suffered losses since the turn, some had even lost their entire families, but this attack was different. It jolted the little group back into reality. Forced them to face the truth of the new world: Nowhere is safe.

So, as tears trailed down tired and broken faces, and sweat dripped from the arms of those making sure the monsters were actually _definitely_ down, they all were realizing it was time to move. They had to move.

Quinn stooped to pick up the dirty boots of one of the now thoroughly deceased walkers, lifting them as T-dog did the same with the man's arms. They carried the corpse between them, both grumbling under their breath as the body swung as if to escape their grasp and sweat stung at their eyes. Stopping when they reached the pile of burning dead and tossing the weighty burden on top.

T let out an exhausted sigh, "You know yesterday while we was running, I was planning out what I would do when we got back," he grumbled to the sailor as he paced back toward the camp with her to gather more bodies, running a hand over his bald head as he moved. "I really wanted to take a nice long nap." He continued with a snort.

A slight smile tugged at the sailor's lips. "You and me both," she replied as she once again stooped to pick up a corpse.

Yelling from near the burn pile caused them both to drop the corpse. It fell to the ground with a thump as T and Quinn peered toward the sound. The sailor brought a hand up to her freckled brow to shield her eyes against the sun, squinting at the two people near the smoldering bodies. _Shit._

"We bury them!" She heard Glenn yell as she jogged in the direction of the two men.

The other made no response to the young Korean man; the hunter just angrily dropped the arms of the corpse he'd been carrying and stormed back to camp. Avoiding the eyes of the survivors as he set about driving his pickaxe aggressively through the skulls of the dead scattered through the clearing.

Quinn let him go, assuming the underlying factor for his rage, instead heading for a very frustrated looking Glenn.

When the sailor reached him, the kid drew her into a hug and let out a sigh into her shoulder. As she rubbed comforting circles into his back, Quinn's mind wandered to the many reactions she had seen to death in her time. Some before the turn, some after, all as different as the people who had died.

The sailor had seen a battle hardened Navy SEAL fall broken to his knees, as sobs had shaken his body while he cradled the body of their comrade. She had seen a teenage girl stand silent and stoic while the sailor had laid a flag across the coffin of the child's father with her closest men. A wife swing punches at a husband when he came home from war but her brother had not. A mother laugh when the sailor had told her the news…

Grief is an unpredictable animal, she thought as she released the delivery boy and bent to pick up the feet of the dead man that had caused the row. They moved the body to lie beside the others of the camp that had been killed, all now waiting in line to be buried.

Over the next few hours of moving bodies in the grueling heat, Quinn stayed loyally at Glenn's side. Ready to prop him up. She could see the emotion storming behind his eyes every time she met his gaze. Read the shake of his hands and the tremor of his lip. Amy's loss was hitting the young man very hard.

The blonde's body lay clutched in the arms of her sister. As still as a painting. Andrea had not moved since the previous night, unwilling to accept her sisters passing, frozen in place with her eyes locked on the dead gaze of her sibling.

Yelling once again split through the air of the quarry, causing Quinn and Glenn to drop the corpse they had been toting and dash back to camp.

The sailor swore under her breath as she ran, the uncomfortable dampness of her sweat drenched shirt and the sting of the salt in her eyes had her patience running thin at this point. "The fuck is happening now," she grumbled to the delivery boy as they caught sight of the odd scene occurring in front of the RV, her dark brows furrowed in frustration.

"I'm okay," came Jim's voice, his tone unconvincing as T-dog held his arms behind his back and Daryl held up his shirt to expose his abdomen to the gathering of chattering survivors.

With blue eyes wide with shock, Quinn noticed the bite-wound gaped in a seeping and bloody mess on the man's skin. _Definitely not fine._ The sailor's hand instinctively moved to the snow-camo rifle strung across her back.

She kept her eyes on the bleeding man, and the rifle in her grip while the group broke into discussion about what to do. Only looking away to glance at the hunter with an eyebrow cocked when the gruff man suggested pick-axing Jim's head. _Woah there, ace._

He proceeded to rush the lanky injured man, brandishing the axe over his head as he went. The grief, frustration, and rage the hunter had been cooping up from the endless day previous finally boiling over. His brother was gone, the camp was in shambles, and now these fuckers wanted to leave a potential walker to incubate? Not a fuckin' chance in his book.

"We don't kill the living." Rick growled, stepping in the hunter's path with his silver revolver pointed menacingly at the redneck's head.

Even with a weapon trained on his head the hunter did not back down, glaring darkly at the sheriff he spat "Funny, coming from a guy who just put a gun to my head." Hands flexing around the wooden handle of the pickaxe as he stared over the sheriff's shoulder at the bitten man.

Padding quietly through the grass between her and the hunter, Quinn moved to his side, a worried frown on her freckled face. She stood so that she had put herself very slightly between the two angry men, feeling Daryl relax very slightly as she did so. Distracted from his target.

Calm eyes locking with the sheriff across from them, she rasped, "No need for the arms display, sheriff." Ponytail swinging behind her, she nodded towards the silver weapon, emphasizing her point.

With a small hand she reached up to where Daryl held the pickaxe and tugged at the weapon's handle, shaking her head very slightly as she did. A silent question resonating in the simple movement. _Is this shit worth your life?_

He let the weapon relax to his side, gaze shifting from the bitten man huddled by the RV to the freckled woman standing at his side, a small grimace on his lips. As the hunter lowered his weapon, the sheriff also holstered his silver handgun with a thankful nod to Quinn.

Her small hand once again tugged on the handle of the pickaxe.

The hunter quirked an eyebrow at the sailor, but allowed her to gently pull him back away from Rick by the handle of the weapon, barely hearing her soft rasp as she whispered, "Stop trying to get yourself killed, ace."

The hunter smirked slightly at her words, ice blue gaze searching the freckled face at his side as he walked backwards with her. Caught off guard once again by how easily she could calm him down. He opened his mouth, but the sailor nudged him in the shoulder with an elbow, silencing his reply as Rick attempted to convince them that the CDC was the best option.

The government complex would have food, water, shelter, and hell maybe even a cure for Jim, he explained with a tone that bordered on pleading. The sheriff didn't want any more death. Not that day, and he truly believed they would find help at the medical center.

His hope was contagious.

Too good to be true, Quinn thought as she watched Jim's expression grow more and more hopeful with the sheriff's words. One had to be careful with how they spread hope, it was a drug near as dangerous as grief.

With lips pursed in concern as she examined each man's face with an analyzing gaze, the sailor listened to the sheriff argue with Shane about whether the group should venture to Fort Benning or the CDC. The larger man had been the leader of this small group for a long time now, and he seemed unwilling to surrender his position, even to a person he claimed was his best friend.

Quinn scoffed in her head as she pondered what would happen when Rick found out how his best friend had treated his wife after his "death." Shane seemed to have more then one reason he wasn't sharing to go in the opposite direction of Rick, but, in front of the camp the deputy only argued that the base was more likely to be fortified against attacks. A safer option, but also many miles in the opposite direction. A complete contrast to his partner's opinion.

The sailor let out a sigh, her mind wandering away from the argument for a moment. Her mind seemed to wander more and more these days…

Wesley had gone to Fort Benning all those weeks ago, trusting her advice and heading for the protection of her men. To the capable hands of Rasta and Leo, her two longest friends in the SEALs, whom she trusted without fault.

But the sailor knew the base was no longer the safe option that Shane was now describing it to be.

During the first week Quinn had stayed with the quarry camp, the week she had slaughtered dozens of dead children and flung herself off of a cliff only to be yelled at by an adulterous mother, she had received a message.

It was given through the crackling haze of poor connection on her old tactical radio, in the middle of one warm night. The radio that each member of her squadron had a pair to, the special line that only SEALs could use.

The message had been brief, only three letters: D N F.

 _Do Not Follow._

* * *

The CDC is going to be interesting...

Quinn may get to use her security clearance and pull rank in one way or another.

Thanks for reading, hope you're enjoying it so far.

-GC


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

"He's my husband,"

She hesitated for barely a beat of her pulse. Looking down at the disfigured and bruised face of the man who lay dead in the dusty grass at her feet, she contemplated the glaze of his now frozen eyes. Eyes that had watched her every move for too many years. Kept her chained to his side with the weight of their gaze. Eyes that had glared above the cruel leer that had always lurked on his now bloodied lips.

They had always been her weakness. What would make her forget about the flailing of fists and the tearing at her clothes.

His eyes.

She would want to fight, to scream, to kick him away as he would wrench her forward by the waist of her pants… but she could not. Not when he set his eyes on her, that piercing look that she could convince herself was love. That she could imagine gazing at her over the smile of a younger face, standing at an altar while she beamed in a white dress.

But those had been foolish fantasies. Hesitations that had always left her body beaten and bloodied, while she would feel helplessly used and discarded by the man she wanted so desperately to love her. Her own mind setting inescapable traps.

She squeezed the wooden handle of the pickaxe tightly as tears steamed down her face, staring into the eyes of her dead husband and struggling to hold the hefty tool in her sweaty hands. Even in death those eyes seemed to take away her power. Leave her frozen and defenseless. Completely vulnerable.

A sob shook her body. Then another. _Not any more._

She swung.

Again and again, sobs quaking her body as blood plumed into the air around the dead man's face. With each strike he became less recognizable. Gone were the staring eyes. Gone was the leering mouth. Gone was the man whom she feared to leave alone with her baby girl.

Until the body on the ground at her feet was nothing to her. Just a mass of blood and flesh that had stood between her and Sophia's safety. No different then the other corpses being burned in the smoldering pile outside of camp.

But still Carol kept swinging.

Flecks of blood and what could possibly be brain matter covered the ground in a wide halo around the late Ed Peletier's head, growing with each new hit. Further soiling a pair of dirty work boots that stood near the sobbing woman as she pounded the axe into bone.

Motionless with shock the hunter watched the scene, a grimace growing on his sweaty face as his brows furrowed deeper with each fall of the axe. He had not expected such aggression from a woman who had always seemed so meek and kind.

But then again, he was no stranger to abuse.

He knew the bruises and the scars. The tricks the mind can play. But most of all he knew the relief in seeing a tormentor fall.

Carol let out a particularly loud sob, and the hunter flinched away. Thoroughly uncomfortable, he averted his eyes to peer across the camp. Looking for the little girl that was hopefully not in sight of this onslaught.

Daryl let out a relieved rush of air when he found the blonde hair of the back of the child's head. Seated in a camp chair, facing perfectly opposite of him near the black Subaru. She was nodding and offering a bloodied knee to a person brandishing a medical kit crouched before the chair.

He saw the sailor stand up from where she had been crouching, watched her mouth moving with a slight smile as she talked to the child. Keeping her distracted from the brutal actions of her mother.

Feeling his gaze, Quinn glanced over to meet his eyes briefly, asking if it was safe for Sophia to go to her mother with the tilt of her head and the raise of an eyebrow.

The hunter shook his head in response, grimacing as he glanced at the scene at his feet. The swings had stopped, but Carol still remained. Tears flowing freely as she stood over the mess.

Crouching back down, the sailor refocused her attention on the girl perched in her camp chair. Flicking her ponytail over her shoulder as she moved, she attempted to come up with some more distracting conversation topics to keep Sophia's mind off her father.

The kid had almost definitely been abused by the man that now lay faceless in the dirt at Daryl's feet, and the sailor had to fight the creeping feeling of relief for the little family that he was now out of their lives. No longer an additional threat to their safety. But sometimes children who are the victims of abuse could have unforeseen reactions to the death of their tormentor, as they may not know any other kind of attention, Quinn thought with her lips pursed as she analyzed the face of the little blonde before her. This was a time to tread carefully.

The sailor settled on pets. All kids like pets, right? So Quinn told the skinny little blonde about her beloved childhood dogs. The whole damned fleet of them and how they had frolicked in the Alaskan blizzards like wild wolves.

The sailor let out a sigh of relief as the child's face lit up with the mention of animals and began readily questioning her about her Alaskan adventures. So Quinn easily spun through stories of sled dogs and swirling snow from her spot in front of the chair. Elbows resting on her muscled thighs as she hovered at the girl's level, keeping her attention opposite of the scene her mother had created. The sailor's freckled face breaking into a smile as Sophia's eyes grew with excitement and wonder that only a child could have at such a time.

"Is that why it says 'BALTO' on that metal tag on your neck?" The little blonde questioned, eyes shining with awe at the sailor's description of a sled dog race she had competed in as a young teenager. Back before she had ever ventured to the lower 48.

The freckled woman laughed gently. A quiet, sad sound. Her callused hand floated to grasp the single dog-tag that hung around her neck, as a scene of snow stained red and orange with the setting sun flashed behind her eyes. Followed by the barking of dogs, and spots of blood contrasting clearly against the pure white of fresh powder. "No, no. That's a story for another time, kiddo." Quinn rasped.

A single gunshot sounded in the camp, drawing the eyes of every survivor.

Andrea had finally been forced to move from where she had sat clutching her sister's body for most of the day. Firing a bullet through Amy's head as the dead girl had reanimated in her arms.

The older blonde now wept openly, cradling her sister while still holding the smoking gun in her hand. Leaning into Dale as the retiree hugged her, his face a mask of pity and sorrow.

The action had roused Carol from her state of blind rage and loss. Drawing her focus back toward reality as she dropped the heavy axe with a thud and a cloud of dust in the dirt, and examined the speckles of blood that spotted her arms. _His blood._

The gentle gray-haired woman glanced up at Daryl, who had been witness to all of her violent behavior, and offered him a tight-lipped expression that on a better day could have passed as a smile. Shame and embarrassment threating to flood her mind as she worried what his reaction might be. So used to the fury of men.

But, the gruff man made no response other then to jerk his head across the camp. Gesturing to where her daughter sat facing away from her, safely in the care of the sailor, before striding away toward his tent without a word.

Words were whispered over open, shallow graves the next morning.

An attempt at normalizing the deaths of their friends and family, and to seem civilized in a world that inched more and more away from familiarity.

Despite the early hour the air was hot and hung heavy about the grieving survivors, weighing down their despair so that it clung to them like the sweat forming on their skin. Trapped in the atmosphere of loss.

The sailor tightened her arm around Glenn's shoulders as he tensed at her side. Propping him up while she stood tall, gazing stoically forward, far too accustomed to death.

The young man's eyes shot skyward as they threatened tears, bottom lip caught firmly in his teeth to keep himself from crying. Barely able to contain his grief as they watched the scene before them.

Andrea was struggling to place the body of her sister into her grave, stumbling under the weight of the body.

The shake of sobs and the weakness of exhaustion were fighting against her efforts by tooth and nail, but Andrea was a strong woman. Quinn had seen that in her eyes from the first moment they had met. A woman cut from a similar cloth as she, dangerously proud and independent. To the sailor it came as no surprise that the broken blonde refused help from anyone. Ignored the looks of pity and the extended hands of the men who wished to take her burden. _Always the men._ Wanting to share one last moment with her sister, sorrowfully alone.

Large feet shifting in the tall grass that surrounded the graves, and the not-so-subtle shooting of a glare, drew the SEAL's attention to the men standing beyond the struggling blonde. Men who had now given up offering unwanted help.

The interactions between the deputy and the sheriff had been terse that morning.

Quinn had overheard the rumbles of masculine voices arguing in the early hours from her watch station in the high branches of her favorite tree. Both had strong opinions about what was best for the dwindling group of survivors, and neither had been keen to back down.

But at some point between that argument and the funeral it seemed that Shane had folded to his partner. The sailor theorized that a certain thin brunette woman might have played a hand in that game. His surrender made obvious by the large man's announcement to the group as a whole that he had decided to side with Rick.

Much to the sailor's relief, as that meant they would head toward the CDC rather than Fort Benning without the need for her input. She didn't want to scare the group unnecessarily with the news of the fall of a safe zone, not when their nerves were already so delicate after this attack.

She didn't know what had happened at the base, but a message such as the one she had received had to be followed without question. Always. A 'Do Not Follow' was one of the most serious commands in the Navy, and the sailor had no doubt that her man on the other side of that radio would not have lead her astray. Not a SEAL. Not ever.

A time would come when she would have to intervene with the two bickering lawmen, but she was grateful that time was not yet.

So she had held her tongue.

She had other things to worry about, the sailor thought, as she gave Glenn's shoulder a little squeeze. Her eyes roaming from the disgruntled deputy to where Carol bent to hug the skinny form of her daughter, Quinn bit her lip with concern, squinting slightly to examine their expressions. The image of Carol swinging mercilessly at the head of her husband still fresh in the sailor's mind.

The soft swishing of tall grass floated through the air as sturdy work boots padded up behind her.

"Quit stressin' the kid, we ain't even left yet," came a familiar growl from over her shoulder.

In a whirl of wavy hair the sailor flicked her head in the hunter's direction. Her movement drawing Glenn's attention so his eyes followed hers to the face of the hunter. The distraction from the grave sites seeming to immediately lessen the weight of the grief that held the young man down.

Quinn could even have sworn she saw a flicker of humor in his eyes at the hunter's word choice.

Daryl stopped his stride, and nudged the sailor's side with an elbow, one eyebrow cocked as he continued to both of them, "She ain't gonna get bitten er pickaxed when we're standin' like a foot from 'er."

The sailor cocked an eyebrow in return, blue eyes meeting blue. Tapping the brim of Glenn's hat as he snorted, she replied to the hunter, "You say that now."

With a gesture of the SEAL's head, the trio wove through the grass back toward camp, muttering about which car each thought should lead the caravan as they prepared to leave the quarry. Distracting themselves from the horror of the night and day before so that they would not be trapped by the paralysis of grief.

Someone needed to plan. Someone needed to stay alert.

So they carried on, leaving the rest to mourn in silence.

For at least a minute longer.

* * *

Yet again the survivors fought to out-race the setting of the sun, although luckily this time safely in vehicles rather than on tired feet.

In the lead of the caravan of cars drove the Subaru, its darkly tinted windows perfectly mirroring the scenery of a fuchsia tinted sky and tall green trees as it sped down the center of the highway.

As it was one of the more heavily armed vehicles and held the two most capable navigators, Quinn had easily quashed any argument that her trusty hatchback should not be out front.

The sailor gazed out her windshield at the endless expanse of asphalt stretching before her, fingers tapping on her steering wheel to some four-count beat that had wormed into her head. Likely due to the constant humming of the young Korean seated at her side, whom had his head bent over the road map of Georgia that stretched across his lap.

Every couple seconds the sailor glanced up to her rearview mirror, checking to see that the line of cars still closely followed. Paranoid of stragglers, as the last time the caravan had stopped the survivors had lost another man.

When the sun had still sat high in the clear Georgia sky, maybe around noon, the RV had broken down.

The old vehicle was reliably unreliable so the hiccup didn't come as a surprise to any of the group. They simply resigned themselves to finding a new radiator hose for it, sending T-dog and Shane off down the highway in search of abandoned cars with abandoned hoses.

But as they had waited, clustered around their parked cars in a little group in the middle of the asphalt strip, the severity of Jim's condition had become evident.

The lanky man had shone with the sweat of high fever, skin sickly green and bite wound seeping, when Rick had helped him out of the RV to get some fresh air.

Jacqui had said that during the drive Jim had been hallucinating severely, calling out the names of his family and weeping. That he had clutched a blanket to his feverish form while the color had slowly drained from his skin. Inching closer and closer to death.

The lanky man had stood amongst the little gathering of survivors for a moment, tired eyes glancing from person to person. A wistful look floating on his face. Before he had asked them to leave him behind.

He was going to die soon, he had murmured, and he wanted to die on his terms.

Some had argued with him, Rick had even begged. Pleading with his honest gaze as he had held the bitten man by the shoulder. They were so near to the CDC and the sheriff had so much hope that he could find Jim a cure. The radiator hose was being fixed, they would be on the road again soon…

But Jim insisted, nodding along as Dale had explained how he believed that the bitten man should have the ultimate say in how his life ended. It was _his_ life, after all.

Insisted as the survivors had argued amongst themselves to decide if he was lucid enough to make that decision. His large eyes, glazed with his rising fever, had rested on a particular face throughout the raising of voices. Had held contact with a pair of soft blue eyes resting in a freckled face. Insisting.

She had nodded.

"Let him make his own damned choice," her raspy voice had commanded, cutting through the stern words of the others as she had held the lanky man's gaze. "He's more sane then most of us."

So they had left him.

Sitting in the shade of a tall tree, muttering the names of his loved ones while they had watched him shrink smaller and smaller in their rearview mirrors.

"Take this exit, Q. We're only a couple miles out now."

Glenn's quiet words drew the sailor's eyes from her mirror. With a nod she flipped her turn signal on and dragged her wheel toward the exit road.

 _Center for Disease Control 2 miles_

"They following?" She asked as she squinted out her windshield to look for the cross street name he had mentioned earlier.

Her co-pilot spun in his chair to glance out the rear window. Counting under his breath before he responded, "Yep, they're all there."

Quinn spotted the cross street and bumped her turn signal on again, an uneasy feeling raising the hairs at the back of her neck as the large modern building came into view.

It looked the same as it always had from a distance.

It was not uncommon for Special Naval Warfare Officers to be briefed on potential outbreaks and security threats at this complex, and the LT Commander had visited several times in her years of service.

Her dark brows furrowed as she noticed the bodies strewn about the parking lot, the abandoned military vehicles, and the torn down barbed-wire fencing. It was not the same. This was a graveyard. Any hope she had held of finding help here dwindled as she pulled her Subaru to park along a curb and leaned forward in her chair to stare at the sealed doors of the CDC.

Maybe if she could just get to a keypad on the entrance door…

Knuckles rapped on the window by her head, drawing both the sailor's and Glenn's attention. The sheriff gestured from the other side of the glass with his silver pistol, signaling for them to get out of the car as the others of their group pulled in to park along the curb.

Quinn nodded to him before turning to Glenn and tapping the brim of his hat affectionately. "Game time," she rasped with a slight smirk, reaching to pull her snow-camo rifle from the back seat. Knives already strapped to her body.

The kid let out a rush of air and drew his brows together, preparing himself as he took the silenced handgun the sailor offered.

They sprung from the Subaru to join the gathering of survivors, all of who were armed and glancing around the wide parking lot that stretched between them and the entrance. Counting the corpses that shuffled slowly about the concrete, disregarding those on the ground.

Treading as quietly as possible they began to jog across the parking lot, those with the most weapons experience hovering on the outskirts of the pack.

Quinn paced at the rear of the group, head swiveling with carefully trained movements as she crept silently along. Rifle raised and pressed into her shoulder at the ready, her two closest men on either side. Daryl and Glenn strode slightly ahead of her, weapons raised, the trio creating a barrier between the two children lagging behind their mothers and any danger that may approach.

At the front Rick and Shane ran, unpracticed feet making loud steps no matter how hard they tried to be quiet. Leading the little group through the maze of so far oblivious dead up to the heavy metal door of the entrance.

But their luck did not last.

Someone tripped over a destroyed piece of a helicopter, kicking the disfigured metal as they stumbled and sending it clanking across the concrete.

The sound did not go unnoticed. As if the dinner bell had been rung, the once mindlessly wandering dead turned toward the survivors. Forcing the group to break into a run toward the door.

"We should go back!" called Shane from the front of the group as they dashed, "Head for Benning, there's nothing here for us!"

With a harsh pip of air, Quinn dropped a corpse that had wandered far too close to T-dog for her liking. Her brows were drawn in a dark glare as she shifted her sights from the fallen corpse to the others still approaching, they were going to get trapped here if they couldn't get those damned doors open soon.

As they reached the metal barrier and Rick began to pound on the door, yelling for help, the sailor spun on her heels to face the slow charge. Gesturing for the hunter and Glenn to do the same with a nudge to each man's shoulder. They backed in close to the rest of the group, standing shoulder to shoulder so the trio could _hopefully_ effectively guard everyone.

"We have to leave!" came the deep voice of the deputy again as he tried to drag his partner away from the door.

The sailor bit her lip as she scanned the concrete area, they were trapped now. The only escape route would be through the congregating dead, and they would have to use knives to kill quickly enough. The risks were growing with every second.

"Is there a keypad?" She called over her shoulder from her place between Daryl and Glenn, eyes still on the approaching walkers. Repeating louder, "Tell me if there's a fucking keypad!" when there was no immediate response.

"Yes!" Rick replied as his hands found a small keypad on the metal wall of the building.

 _Thank fucking god._ Quinn swung her rifle over her back and turned to cut through the crowd, heading for the door. Rasping: "Close ranks" to the hunter and her co-pilot as she moved. Holding the ice blue gaze of the hunter over her shoulder until he offered her a nod and pulled the younger man closer to him.

Stopping beside Rick, the sailor flipped up the metal cover of the little key pad with one hand, the other bringing her dog tag up to bite between her teeth. An old habit for when she was trying to remember some specific information in a stressful situation, an oddly frequent part of her life.

Quickly tapping through the lengthy chain of digits in her security code, she heard Rick exclaim, "The camera, it moved!"

"Then there must be someone inside, those are manually controlled," The sailor rasped to him, still pounding numbers into the keypad. High-level security clearance meant the world's fucking longest codes, she thought as she swore under her breath.

"Let us in!" The sheriff yelled, waving at the camera, "You're killing us!"

Harsh pips sounded from the back of the group as Glenn took down several corpses.

The dead were closing in around the little group, and Daryl had now joined the delivery boy in the battle. The hunter stabbed those within reach with a bolt from his bow, trying to buy Quinn a little more time.

The keypad beeped twice and flashed green as the final sequence was pressed, causing the sailor to call out with relief, "Oh thank fucking god."

Flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder, Quinn moved her rifle back up to her eye and faced the oncoming storm. Hearing the creaking of the barrier lifting as she tapped her trigger to bring down assailing walkers. _Not a second too late._

As gunshots fired the metal doorway slowly lifted, light from the complex pouring out onto the darkening concrete.

Pattering footsteps could be heard running on the tile inside, and a man's voice called out "Quickly, inside!"

* * *

More action, arguments, and drunken bonding time to come.

Thanks for reading!

Review if you feel so inclined, those are quite motivating.

Best,

GC


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Voices died on thick concrete. Unused hallways sat dark and haunting as tired feet paced by.

Further and further they wove into the complex, spread across the expansive walkway with eyes wide in wonder, following the mysterious man in the lab coat.

Chewing worriedly on her lip as she trailed at the back of the group, Quinn focused her senses. Reaching out, trying to hear any sounds of life beyond the breath and footfalls of the line of survivors. To smell the flow of fresh air that would mean others were opening and closing doors in the building.

Nothing.

Gone were the heavy-footed scientists that had tapped across the tile floor during her last visit. Still were the doors that had swung open and closed almost continuously as she had walked these beige hallways in uniform, leading a team of eleven tall SEALs as they had guarded one very important man.

As the survivors passed another dark door leading to a forgotten hallway, the sailor thought back to how Leo had frustratedly commented, " _Damn Balto, these lab-coats are like fuckin' ants. Feel like I'm gonna crush one every time I make a damned move."_ When the giant man had accidentally elbowed some small scientist in the head during that trip.

A ghost of a smile flickered on her lips at the memory, only to fade as the crackling voice that had echoed from her radio once again floated to the front of her mind.

" _D.N.F._ "

Despite the static distortion she was fairly certain that voice had been Leo's. The sailor had heard the Samoan's baritone crackling through a radio so many times she was almost positive. The thought was nearly as devastating as it was reassuring. She knew her second in command would protect her family to his last breath, but a D. N. F. was serious. People must have died. Sailors, civilians, masses had to have died.

 _Let him be alive. Let them all be alive._

Another dark hallway entered her peripherals and Quinn shook her head, trying to rid herself of worries for her family. Her dark brows furrowed as she refocused her gaze on the back of the blonde stranger's head leading the group, she couldn't afford distraction right now. Something was off about this situation. Something was ominous.

They were alone in this maze of modern technology, of that she was certain.

"Vi, bring up the lights in the big room," The blonde man, Dr. Jenner, called to the air as the group of survivors filed into a room filled with computers behind him. The control room, if the sailor remembered correctly.

The lights flickered on, illuminating the empty area, and Jenner turned to them with his arms open wide, saying, "Welcome to Zone 5."

Subtle _ooo_ 's echoed around the survivors as they glanced around the space, some moving to closer inspect the fancy computer displays that now lay black and unused. Collecting dust. All slowly coming to the same conclusion that the sailor had reached. They were alone.

As Rick and Lori questioned Jenner about the lack of other doctors and the mysterious female voice that had turned on the lights, Quinn turned from the conversation. She knew that the voice was an AI system, and that this man was the only doctor left. It seemed obvious, but of course she had been in this room before. Knew how the energy used to buzz in those hallways.

So, as Jenner answered the concerned couple's questions, explained their solitude and the identity of Vi, the sailor looked from face to face of her weary companions. Analyzing. Checking for injuries, signs of over-exhaustion, and tears. This was the first moment to breathe they had been given since the attack on the camp, and that was evident in the dark circles and bags that hung under their eyes.

Andrea concerned the sailor the most. The normally emotive blonde had been silent for hours, and her skin looked almost sickly pale. A frown pulled at Quinn's mouth as she examined the woman's face; her lips seemed frozen in a grimace as her eyes moved almost unseeingly around the room. She was definitely still in shock from her sister's loss, and the sailor feared Andrea might wither away if she couldn't pull herself out of that dark place. Grief would kill the blonde before the dead even had a chance.

A nod passed between Quinn and Dale as the retiree moved to Andrea's side. He too had noticed the change, and would take the first swing at consoling the woman he loved like a child. Throwing an arm around the blonde, the graying man began talking to her about some distracting subject or another, leaving the sailor with a slight smile on her face as she watched the exchange.

They had agreed to undergo blood tests to ease the lone doctor's mind. Each taking a turn in the chair facing the needle while the rest sprawled about the control room. Chatting peacefully and enjoying the feeling of relative safety.

Jenner had requested that the sailor go first, as he wanted to question her about her security clearance. Their exchange had been brief, a needle in her arm as she had responded curtly to his questions about her rank and knowledge of certain sensitive matters.

"Ah, so you are _that_ LCDR, then." The doctor had murmured as he flicked the little vile as it filled with blood, "was worried someone might have stolen that code, but you popped up in the facial recognition software."

Quinn had just nodded confirmation of her identity, watching the blonde man's face for signs of malice or deception. He seemed to know much more about top-secret information then a doctor of his stature should… But after he had explained that on one of the sailor's previous trips to this complex the lead scientist she had been briefed by was his wife, his knowledge made a little more since.

His wife had been the scientist that had first told Quinn about the horror that was this disease. Wildfire, as the CDC called it.

In a dull beige conference room guarded by the sailor's own armed SEALs, Quinn had stood at the shoulder of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and listened to the most frightening briefing she had ever received. They were all going to die, everyone was going to die, the female scientist had explained in a matter of fact tone, and that wouldn't be the worst of it.

"She liked you," Jenner had stated as he had withdrawn the needle from the sailor's arm and capped the little vile of blood. Meeting her calm gaze and offering a hand to shake before beckoning forward the next subject, he continued, "Commander Balto, the lady SEAL with the freckles and hair in a room full of stoic old men. You gave her hope."

Quinn had taken the offered hand and shook it firmly, inclining her head in recognition of the man's words. Noting how his eyes seemed to shatter when he spoke of his wife. An observation that had her even more wary of her group's situation as she stood from the chair and strode away from the doctor.

 _A broken man, left alone for this long, cannot be trusted._

The line to have blood drawn was dwindling, only two more left for the chair, Quinn noticed from her spot across the room. She was listening intently to Rick, mouth drawn in a hard line as she nodded along to a certain idea. Four were gathered there, the sheriff and Shane stood across from her, and a somewhat uncomfortable looking hunter was perched on a desk close by her side. His eyes on his hands as he toyed with a broken-tipped bolt.

The redneck had not strayed from her side since he had seen her stumble slightly after getting her blood drawn. Remaining despite his ever-growing distaste for the deputy.

A fifth man wandered in their direction, a piece of gauze with a small spot of blood wrapped around his arm. Same as their own.

"You think they have any food laying around this place, Q?" Glenn asked as he dropped an elbow on his freckled friend's shoulder, leaning his weight into her as he balanced on one foot.

Chuckling while the sounds of his stomach rumbling bounced around the room, Quinn nudged the kid affectionately in the side with her arm. Allowing Rick, who had been listing ideas for the group's next moves before her copilot interrupted, to respond to the question.

"Let me ask the good doctor." The sheriff replied with an amused smile, clapping the sailor on the shoulder not occupied by Glenn and then moving off to where Jenner was taking Andrea's blood.

Shane trailed after his partner, offering the delivery boy and sailor a nod as he went. Entirely ignoring the hunter, as he so often did.

A fact not missed by Daryl, who flipped up his finger at the retreating back of the deputy, growling, "Fuckin' meat head," much to the amusement of his companions.

The hunter had an impressive knack for _always_ blurting out exactly what he was thinking, no hesitation, the sailor observed as she cocked an eyebrow at the seated man. Well, at least regarding things that pissed him off. It was a habit that had been difficult to buffer back when he and Merle used to spew racist garbage all the time. But now that she had mostly stemmed that, she thought with a stab of loss as her favorite graying vet flashed behind her eyes, it was like the younger Dixon just spat all the harsh shit she fought to keep in. _Fucking therapeutic._

Kicking at the hunter's foot with her boot, the sailor rasped, "Ah, there's that Southern charm I've heard so much about," a smirk lifting the corner of her lips.

"Shut up, Lee," he responded, with a slight smirk of his own. His eyes flicking to her freckled face for a moment before he resumed his examination of the bolt in his hand.

Glenn snorted at their comments, the action knocking him off balance from where he leaned against Quinn, forcing him to catch himself on a chair with a flail of arms before he fell. None too gracefully.

"Charmers, the lot of you," the sailor quipped, before turning from the pair as she heard someone mention food across the room.

Food indeed.

The survivors gleefully raided the complex's kitchen after Jenner had given them his blessing, and they set about preparing an elaborate meal with everything they could find.

T-dog and Dale preformed some sort of magic with the industrial stove top, turning canned food and dry pasta into a gourmet dish in less then an hour. Both singing to themselves while they stirred at separate pots and yelling at anyone who dared to peek at their creations before they were completed.

Jacqui had found the liquor and wine cabinet within a minute of searching, nearly shrieking with excitement when she did. The petit black woman lined the table with a variety of bottles, a smile plastered to her face. Creating what the group could imagine was an elegant centerpiece.

Most just stared at the bottles in awe once they were seated around the long table, never expecting to see alcohol again, only drawn from their daze when hot bowls of pasta were placed on the table with a thud as Dale and T proudly revealed their handiwork.

The smell was divine, a savory combination of canned tomato sauce and garlic, making the survivors' mouths water uncontrollably. It had been multiple days since most had eaten, months since the food had been properly cooked.

Bottles were uncorked, plates were served, and the feast commenced.

A laugh bubbled from the sailor as she watched little pale Carl spit red wine across the table with an expression of pure disgust on his face. A real laugh, unchecked and musical, like she hadn't released since before the turn. The type that spurs from friends and alcohol.

She reclined in her chair, still laughing softly as Rick grinned at her from his spot next to his son, an arm slung around the back of Glenn's chair and a leg propped on the edge of the hunter's. Completely at ease between them, holding a cup of wine in her lap. The plate before her sat empty, perfectly cleaned after multiple helpings, as did the plates of most at the table.

At her side, Glenn held his reddened face up with one hand so he could look at the hunter and sailor as he stated, "Y'know I don't think 've ever been this drunk." His expression serious as he glanced drunkenly between them, he brought the cup he held in his other hand up to show them the liquid left inside. "See?"

A bark of laughter joined the sailor's own as the hunter ran a hand through his already messy hair, thoroughly amused. He reached across Quinn with the bottle of liquor he clutched and used it to lead Glenn's cup up to his mouth, throwing his head back with laughter when the kid finished the drink. Not noticing that the sailor stole his bottle and took a swig as he laughed, "Damn yer red, kid."

Slamming the cup back to the table on its face to show he'd finished, the young Korean just flipped the hunter off, a drunken smile on his face as he leaned his head against Quinn's arm on the back of his chair. Humming happily when she ruffled his hair.

"Oy!" Daryl exclaimed when he saw the freckled woman bring the liquor he'd been holding to her lips. Honestly surprised that he was no longer holding it. He snorted and stole her wine cup after Quinn winked in response with a finger raised from her hand gripping the bottle.

The sailor took a long pull then thrust the bottle against the redneck's chest, prodding him with her boot when that didn't stop him from draining her cup.

"Oy to you too," she rasped with a brow cocked as the now smirking man handed her back the empty container.

A voice interrupted any further battle over the bottle at that moment, deep and masculine, demanding, "When are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here?"

Without even glancing towards the speaker Quinn knew who had spoken, hell she could have been deaf to the sound and she would have known who had spoken as she watched the instantaneous shift in Daryl's expression. His lips dropped into a snarl and his somewhat drunken contented air faded with the furrow of his brows as the hunter glared down the table at the deputy. He looked ready to fight. _Fuck, not now._

As Glenn drunkenly complained about the dampening of the mood from his place against her arm, Quinn gently prodded the hunter's leg again. Drawing his attention away from Shane before the large man could say something to trigger a reaction, it wouldn't take much right now the sailor thought.

"Stand down, ace," she rasped when his sharp eyes fell on hers. "Fuck him," she continued, dumping some more wine into her cup and raising it up. Smiling when he tapped his bottle against the plastic container, a 'fuck him' falling from his lips as he smirked back.

"Yeah, man. Fuck 'em," came Glenn's slurring voice as the kid jerked his head up and glanced toward the pair with a goofy smile. He grabbed the bottle of water that Quinn nodded toward and happily sipped along with his two companions as they took several swigs of alcohol.

Showers. With good water pressure. Scalding hot showers.

The water had felt more luxurious than any spa treatment her mother had ever dragged her too, fuck those awkward experiences. Hell it had felt better then that natural hot spring somewhere in Oregon that she had sworn was the most miraculous thing to grace the planet, the sailor thought as she struggled to braid her wet hair down her back in her slightly drunken state. _Fucking glorious experience._

She padded out of the bathroom, barefoot but dressed back in her jeans and t-shirt, infinitely thankful she had been wearing her small pack with extra underwear when they had made their mad dash for the CDC.

The two men sprawled in the room looked up from their intoxicated conversation when she entered. Glenn grinning from where he sat on the lone cot and Daryl raising the liquor bottle in greeting from where he lay on the ground near the kid's feet as she chuckled at the sight of them. Both had showered before her, their short hair nearly dry now.

"We were talkin' about suicide, Whaddoya think Q?" Glenn slurred, head falling into the sailor's lap when she sat cross-legged next to him on the cot.

The question drew a snort from the hunter on the ground as the gruff man took another swig from his bottle before holding it up to Quinn. His arm shooting up in front of her face as he lay even with the pair.

She accepted the bottle, tugging it from his grip and bringing it to her lips to sip before she responded. Copying the young Korean's nickname strategy, she rasped, "Tell me what you think first, G."

Humming dramatically from his place in her lap, Glenn slurred, "Well, before this shit I never really understood the concept. Never really understood dyin' at all actually…"

He trailed off for a moment, and the sailor took another swig before lowering the liquor back down to the man on the floor, bringing her hand muss the kid's hair when it was bottle-free again.

Glenn closed his eyes sleepily as her hand moved over his head, voice quieter as he continued, "…But now shit's different, y'know? Maybe I get why people wouldn't want to get eaten, maybe I could see not wanting to starve to death… but I wouldn't do it. I don't know Q, I just really like being alive and shit." He fell silent again, dozing off with his last words.

Fingers still trailing through thick black hair, Quinn smiled sadly down at her friend's sleeping form. This was Glenn, so purely honest. Sober or drunk, calm or afraid, he would always be the same honest kid she wanted at her side.

A quiet gravelly voice floated up from the ground near her, drawing her eyes so they met the sharp blue of the hunter's.

"I always thought 't was cowardly," he started, holding her gaze for a moment before glancing away as he brought a hand up to play with the edge of the cot. "Then one time Merle had me drive him out ta Alabama for this funeral, his old buddy from the service. An' he said that the guy had killed himself. Shot himself in the fuckin' head," the hunter continued, a frown growing on his face as he continued to examine the edge of the cot he held in his fingers.

"An' that shit made me think, that whole hot as fuck long ass drive to 'bama. What if my brother had shot himself in the fuckin' head? What the fuck would I think about that? I dunno if he told ya but he used to think about it a lot…used to sit with a bag of too much crack in his hand and think about dyin..." Daryl trailed off again, his rough voice softening as he spoke about his brother's past.

He glanced from the fraying he had created in the canvas of the cot to settle on the freckled face above him. Her expression caught Daryl off guard, he saw recognition and empathy reflecting in her eyes and the crease between her brows. She had known about Merle, she had to have known. Those soft blue eyes had never lied to him.

"What happen'd?" he asked, pushing him self up with strong arms so that he sat nose to nose with the sleeping figure of Glenn who rested on the sailor's crossed legs. His vision blurring as he moved, making the hunter fully aware of how piss drunk he had gotten while a certain freckled sniper had been showering. _Fuck_

Quinn sighed, leaning against the wall that the cot was set up against, holding the hunter's gaze as she murmured, "I found him sitting on the quarry cliff one day… I think it was that day you woke me up to go looking for him."

Her mind floated back to that story she had told to the vet as they had leaned into each other's shoulders. Two servicemen haunted by the past in a world even more haunting.

"He was staring down at a little bag of drugs, completely sober. And he had this lost look on his face when I sat down next to him," she continued, pushing off the wall and reaching a hand out to rest on the younger Dixon's shoulder when he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against her knee with a drunken but sorrowful sigh.

She gave his bare skin a little squeeze, rasping, "He pulled himself out, ace. He dropped the drugs in my hand. War claws at the minds of every serviceman, but Merle Dixon is a strong, stubborn motherfucker. He won't opt out. I know he won't."

The nearly unconscious man nodded against her knee and brought a rough hand up to cover the small one she had placed on his shoulder, mumbling "Fuckin' right he won't. Not my brother," as he pressed the appendage into his shoulder.

He slurred something that could have been 'Dixon's don't fold,' before collapsing back against his pack on the ground unconscious. Heavy snores floating from his lips.

Quinn glanced between the two passed-out men, a fond smile tugging at her lips as she carefully extracted herself from under Glenn's head and stepped over Daryl's sprawled form. Heading for a somewhat comfortable looking armchair that sat a couple feet away from the pair.

Curling up in the chair, one long combat knife clutched in her hand, Quinn attempted to sleep. Her buzzed brain swirling her memories and creating a wild reel of half-dreams as she fidgeted.

Merle walking on a snowy path ahead of her, his brother at her side, both staring at the wondrous reflection of the sunset on the white expanse… oblivious to the trail of blood she watched drip onto the pure snow…

She blinked...Now it was her men, Leo and Rasta, replacing the brothers. Seated ahead of her on the bed of a sled… between them the body of a uniformed SEAL.

The sailor gripped her knife handle agitatedly in her sleep, cursing under her breath at the confusing scenes playing behind her eyes.

* * *

"Lower your goddamned gun, and let me do my job," a firm voice ordered from above his head, drawing him out of his state of near-unconsciousness. Other masculine voices floated around near him for a second after the order, before they grew softer and softer, like the men had obeyed and were trailing away.

His head was pounding. His back ached. But his arm, fuck his arm screamed in pain. White hot like he had never experienced before. What the fuck was wrong with his arm, he panicked as he tried to move the hand on the throbbing limb. The attempt led to a shooting pain so intense that he could feel his arm hairs standing on end and the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

The world swam as he forced his eyes open; squinting up he caught sight of a golden brown beard hovering near him. He was lying on his back, probably in grass if he could feel correctly, definitely not where he remembered being last time he had his eyes open. Hadn't he been driving?

He glanced down at his arm to try to figure out the cause of his terrible pain, only to almost pass-out again with the sight he found. A bleeding mess. A stump. His hand was entirely gone.

Memories came rushing back to him as he stared down at the stump. The bite. The knife. He hadn't died? He wasn't one of the geeks?

He opened his mouth to try to speak, but the bearded man dropped a large hand over it, and he heard the same voice mutter something to him.

"Best act passed-out right now, man. I'm gonna try and help you out but you gotta listen to me. No questions yet. Roger?" He was pretty sure the bearded man said, the phrasing echoing oddly in his ears.

Merle Dixon nodded very slightly in response and allowed the bearded man to wind a strip of gauze around the bleeding wound where his hand had once been. Biting his tongue and swearing colorfully in his head to keep from calling out from pain at the action, he glanced up at the man's face again, trying to place that phrase.

Blue eyes were squinting down at his stump from under shaggy blonde brows, a curly wad of hair could be seen tied up at the back of the man's head.

The blonde felt his gaze and met his eyes with a firm stare, muttering, "Names Wes. I'm a doctor, so just let me do my shit."

Merle's eyes widened at the man's words, hazy mind desperately searching for memories of certain descriptions.

 _Wes._

* * *

Decided to split this into two. Hope y'all enjoyed part one of the CDC.

Thanks so much for reading!

-GC


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Powdered eggs.

Yellow, rubbery mush that generally required a hefty portion of cheese or salsa to be palatable. Hated by children, adults, and the elderly alike.

Generally.

The scraping of forks on bowls and plates was the only sound to echo around the long table as the first of the survivors to rise shoveled eggs into their hung-over bodies. Their previous prejudices surrounding the powdered substance dying with each grateful bite.

Glorious eggs.

Glenn and Rick seemed to be nursing the most severe hangovers of those at the table, both sporting the furrowed brow of someone with a piercing headache. The sheriff was managing to courageously squint his way through a conversation with Dale, somewhat convincingly hiding his pain as he nodded along with the retiree's theory. Lori rubbed small circles on his back as he did, in no way fooled by the act.

But in her ministrations she did miss something. A haunted look floating behind his pained eyes as Rick struggled to listen, like he was pondering something that terrified him.

In contrast to the sheriff, Glenn made no effort to hide his discomfort. As soon as the young Korean finished his helping of eggs, he dropped his forehead to the cool surface of the tabletop with a groan. Hoping that it would somehow soothe his throbbing head. He stayed that way as the others ate and occasionally shot him piteous or amused glances. Only moving so he could glare at Daryl when the hunter decided to slam a cup of water down a little more forcefully then necessary.

Glenn cursed loudly into the table as he scowled, much to the delight of the hunter who smirked and scooted his chair forward as loudly as he could in response.

From where she stood guarding the currently brewing coffee, Quinn chuckled as her co-pilot groaned again. Poor kid had definitely not been lying when he had said that last night was the drunkest he had ever been. If his pitiful groans and somewhat green face were any tell, this was probably the most hung-over he had ever been as well, the sailor realized as she heard him make another pathetic sound. Might even be his first hangover ever, which was a thought that made her smile at his pained expression pressed into the table. _Precious._

A bark of laughter drew her eye from her favorite delivery boy to his sleeveless tormentor. The sailor shot an eyebrow up at the amused hunter who responded to her silent reprimand with what he must have assumed was an innocent raise of the shoulders. Smirk still plain on his face, the cheeky bastard.

The steady drip of coffee slowed and then stopped, and a little beep drew Quinn's eyes back to well-worn coffeemaker. The rest of the world entirely forgotten for a moment as she stared at the pot full of glorious hot liquid, it had been weeks since the sailor had even _looked_ at coffee. She filled a little mug she had found in one of the CDC kitchen's many cupboards, and brought it up to rest under her nose. Breathing deeply, Eyes closed and a dreamy smile tugging at her lips.

The freckled woman liked to think that she didn't have many weaknesses. Sure, she was prone to blisters, but that's what wool socks were for. And duct tape when this new hell somehow cut through her supply of those… Now that would be a sad day. She had tried to avoid coffee for years, tried to avoid the inevitable addiction, but she was a sailor. Sailors drink coffee. Coffee so black and strong you can almost chew it. It was a right of passage, a weakness they all had, Quinn thought as she took a little sip with a smile still crinkling the corners of her eyes. _Hooyah._

She passed the pot to a very disgruntled Shane with a nod when he shuffled towards her. His needy expression probably a mirror to how she had looked while watching the slow dripping earlier. He returned the nod, and patted her back thankfully as she passed him on the way to the table.

If they hadn't just spent the night in a secured facility, with little chance of corpse-infiltration, the sailor would have been more concerned about the red scratches that stretched across the deputy's neck. But without the threat of the deceased, Quinn was pretty sure she knew what had caused them, especially after a certain thin brunette woman had refused to look up from her plate when T had inquired about the marks.

She watched Lori push eggs around her plate from where she stood between the hunter and her groaning sidekick. A dark eyebrow cocked as she watched the tremor of the woman's hand when her husband responded, "That doesn't sound like you," to the deputy's claim of scratching himself in his sleep.

They had fought, and it must have been serious.

Quinn glanced down to her side, hoping to see the same story playing in the hunter's eyes, but before she could capture his attention, the table erupted with chatter. Drawing both of their eyes across the room.

Dr. Jenner walked through the door, looking haggard and hung-over much like the rest of them.

The survivors instantly started bombarding him with questions, and the noise effectively distracted the sailor from a seemingly unimportant lover's spat. She listened as questions shot like machinegun fire. Asking about the turn. The research preformed, and if any conclusions could be made. They wanted to know if there was hope. Needed there to be hope to validate their journey.

"We didn't come here for the eggs," Andrea stated, her voice cutting through the barrage of questions and drawing the eyes of the room.

She looked drained, worse than the day before Quinn concluded, frowning as she analyzed the woman's face. The blonde must have had a difficult night, tear tracks were barely visible on her tanned cheeks, and her eyes held dark rings. Dale stood close by the woman's side, a worried nervousness causing his eyes to dart back to the blonde despite how he had fervently questioned the doctor. As though if he looked away for too long she would vanish. The strong blonde woman that the sailor had known in the quarry was crumbling away. Giving into the temptations of grief.

They followed Jenner back to the main control room, the promise of answers echoing in their minds. He would show them a video, a top-secret piece of information, to try and give them some clarity.

Hanging back as her companions filed into the room after the doctor, the sailor took a moment to check the expression of her young Korean friend. Making sure he didn't look overly worried before she spun on her heel in the opposite direction. Daryl would watch his back, she thought as she swung her rifle from over her back and flicked on the flashlight at the end of the scope, the hunter wouldn't let her down.

There was an errand she wanted to run. Needed to run, and this may be her only moment.

She nudged open a door leading to a darkened hallway that branched off the main one, the light at the end of her scope illuminating her path as she crept over the tile. Checking the walls for a list of room descriptions.

The video would offer her no clarity, she knew that. The sailor had seen something she assumed would be similar back in D.C. Before the world had known. Except it had been in person, standing behind glass as she and a few of her men had squinted down at a computer screen, watching the brain of their bitten comrade in the MRI die. Seeing the brain stem light back up as his body was reanimated.

That was before they had known how to kill them, before they knew to shoot the brain. So they had ripped open the door to the MRI room in a panic and peppered their beloved SEAL with bullets. Shot after shot until someone had finally aimed for the head. Splattering the room in the blood of their friend. Quinn remembered dragging her shocked men from that little white room, and how fear had won out grief in the depths of their eyes as she had ordered them off base. Just as her commanding officer would order her in the following days.

 _Go home. Go to your families. This is how we defend the people, not hiding behind barbed wire. Go._

So the SEALs had been released.

As the other servicemen would stay in the concrete bunkers and wait, they would go out and ready the people. The most daring trusted to fight on their own.

A metal sign on the wall caught her light and drew her attention. A smile split across her freckled face as she scanned the thing, a complex map, just what she was looking for. She traced the hallways and names with sharp eyes, looking for two particular rooms.

Route set, she focused her beam back to the darkness ahead of her and broke into a quick jog, unsure of how long she could afford to be away from her companions. There was a guard station in this hallway, and although it wouldn't hold the arsenal that an armory might, she didn't think she could spare the time to look elsewhere.

Black boots padding almost silently as she moved over tile, she swiveled so her light bounced to the sign on each door she passed. As the light hit the door the sailor approached on her right, she let out a little sigh of relief. _Guard Station_. She tugged at the handle, moving inside as it easily swung toward her.

Rifle to her shoulder, she scanned the room for boxes of ammunition, light following loyally along with the movements of her head. A government building like the CDC was her only hope for finding the proper type of .50 caliber rounds for her larger rifle, outside of a military base. The guards at these sorts of complexes generally had a pretty hearty arsenal, and the sailor was hoping beyond hope as she shined her light over a collection of ammunition boxes that at least one would read the right damned number. _Just one fucking box, please._

The sailor couldn't shake the ominous feeling that she would _need_ that sort of fire-power in the near future, so as her scope-light floated over a collection of boxes reading .50 she almost yelped with delight. Three boxes. Untouched, filled boxes of .50 caliber rounds. More then enough to complete a mission before the turn, maybe enough to help keep her crew alive in this new hell. _Fuck yes._ Maybe there was a god, she pondered as she stooped to stack the ammunition in the small pack she had strapped to her back.

With a little more weight at her back, she paced out of the guard station and continued her jog down the hallway. Swiveling from sign to sign with her little ray of light as she moved, knowing that the next items may be more difficult to find.

Her best bet was probably going to be personal offices, the sailor thought as she turned the nob of a door with a doctor's name on it. According to that map, the CDC didn't have a pharmacy or medication stockpile anywhere near to the hallway she was currently in, and she needed to get back to the others. It had probably already been to long.

The space was small, but had likely been comfortable. A large desk with a plush office chair filling most of the room.

The sailor started slightly as her scope illuminated a pale hand resting on the wood of the desk, unmoving. The chair still held the body of what Quinn could only assume was the doctor whose name was on the door. She wrinkled her freckled nose slightly at the stench of rotting flesh, pointing her rifle at the corpse to bathe it in light, looking for a bullet wound. A hole gaped in the dead man's scull, effectively preventing him from reanimating.

The discussion held in low tones, huddled together around a cot the previous night, sprung to the front of her mind as she stared at the wound. For a second she could have sworn that the face she illuminated looked strikingly like Merle Dixon, her blue eyes frozen to the gaunt white face. His familiar gaze staring at her through dead lenses, with that gaping bullet wound sitting on his brow as a sign that he had done the one thing she had promised his brother he wouldn't. But she shook her aching head to clear the thought, cursing in the empty room as she did and speeding up her search. There was another Dixon for her to get back to. One she knew was actually there… _He isn't dead. He can't be dead._

With no threat provided by the doctor who had opted out, the sailor moved about the office. Opening drawers and looking in the little trinket boxes that sat on the large desk. Searching for little orange bottles with white tops with her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration.

Something rattled as she pulled the smallest desk drawer open, the one closest to the deathly still hand of the corpse that she had been avoiding. It was her last hope in that small room, all other possible hiding places coming up empty.

Success. _Doctors are reliably damaged._

Back in the hallway, a soft red glow close to the ceiling caught the sailor's eyes.

Her eyebrows shot towards her hairline as the light of her scope fell on a string of numbers on what she first assumed was a digital clock. Red numbers, counting down from an hour.

"Fuck!" Quinn rasped, spinning on her heels and sprinting back up the hallway toward the one that lead to the control room. If her time deployed had taught her anything, it was that when glowing red numbers start counting down, it was time to get the hell out of dodge. Or your ass was going to get blown up.

The sailor came skidding out into the hallway that lead to the control room just as Rick, Shane, T, and Glenn burst out of the door, panicked looks mirrored on all of their faces. The young Korean immediately wrapped the sailor in a hug, squeezing her tightly as she ruffled his hair, muttering, "Damn, there you are Q."

She rasped a 'sorry' into his hair as Rick dropped a hand on her shoulder and met her composed eyes with worried ones.

"The generators are going to shut down, we're going to see if there's any manual override," The sheriff explained, allowing his panic to settle as he held her calm gaze. The sailor would have his back; they would be all right. He gestured his head for her to join them as the deputy and T continued down the hallway without pause.

She nodded, and three more pairs of feet paced toward the generators.

Lights flickered off.

First just one in the room above the loudly whirring generators, then another. Then every light in the room.

Quinn flicked her scope-light on again and made for the door, gesturing with it for the others to follow her as she rasped, "We need to find Jenner now! A complex like this is gonna have some extreme protocol for this type of shut-down. I'm talking like fucking bombs, guys!" Voice rousing the men from their panicked stares at the extinguished lights and drawing them out of the room after her.

The air felt overly still as they sprinted through the hallway back to the control room. The air-conditioning must have shut off, the sailor thought as she pointed her scope forward, illuminating their path.

The survivors were now gathered in the control room, a feeling of dread hanging over them as the bright red numbers continued to dwindle above them.

Fearful eyes all tracked the blonde doctor as he paced the room, explaining ominously how the French researchers had been the first to go dark… How when the red numbers ran out the building would be forced to run through decontamination protocol…

Quinn let out a rush of air, forcing herself to be calm as she tore her eyes away from the blonde man, checking to make sure that she found every face present in the room. It was much quicker to lead a cluster then to gather stragglers.

Decontamination apparently consisted of catching the fucking air on fire, she heard the doctor tell the now raging sheriff as he paced toward the ramp, her eyes still moving through her companions. They would definitely need to act quickly if they were going to escape the situation she predicted.

The sailor found every face, her gaze settling on that of little Sophia as she finished her count. The child's eyes were huge with terror as she clung desperately to her mother. She felt someone move to stand by her side, and a bare shoulder bumped against her own.

"We'll git 'r out," came his growl, and Quinn knew the hunter's eyes had found the same scared face.

Jenner stopped his stride by the entrance door, staring down at them from the top of the ramp as he said, "There's no point in struggling," and pressed a button on the keypad that made the barrier slide quickly shut. Trapping them inside just as warning sirens began to blare. The building's power was now dangerously low, and the red numbers were still dropping.

The panic was palpable.

Shane shot toward the now sealed entrance, Daryl brushing by the sailor to run close on his heels, both wielding blunt objects and intent on busting their way out despite the doctor's descriptions of the door's strengths. Both seeming to have blinders for anything but the barrier that stood between them and freedom.

Tears poured down Sophia's little face, and Carol bent to clutch her to her side, yelling "My daughter doesn't deserve to die like this!" as tears began to trickle from her own eyes as well.

Lori and Carl moved to huddle with the woman and daughter, the little boy's eyes beginning to water as he watched his closest friend weeping. Lori's cold and persistent glare forcing Jenner to respond with, "Isn't this more humane? Choosing how you die? Choosing to not let them live in a world as cruel as this?" his voice almost pleading.

The sheriff, who had been arguing with him, did nothing but gape at the man for a long moment. Completely aghast that anyone would suggest the murder of children. His child.

That simply stated question snapped the SEAL into action, drew her from where she had been watching Jenner's face in shock, into a sprint across the room. Heading for the sealed entrance door. How could she have hesitated, how could she have been so irresponsible… She was trained better.

"Get off the door! Get off the door!" she yelled wildly as she sped up the ramp toward Daryl and Shane.

Both men immediately responded to the sound, obeying and backing away. Watching with eyes wide and chests heaving from their swinging as the sailor pounded a button on the door keypad that read 'OVR.'

Over her shoulder she heard Jenner describing how his wife had been the person in the video. How he had promised to keep fighting after he had been forced to shoot her. The sailor closed her eyes for a moment, remembering that intelligent scientist she had met in that beige room. She was dead. Everyone that had been in that room with her was likely dead as well. Maybe the sailor herself would soon be dead…

"State override credentials," a robotic voice stated from the button Quinn held under her thumb. The sailor's blue eyes shot up to the ceiling; wild hair flowing down her back as she quickly prayed to whatever gods were out there that her security clearance actually covered this damned complex. Behind her the deputy rushed down the ramp to help Rick rally the survivors, leaving the hunter standing stock still with ice blue eyes locked on her mane of brunette hair, waiting.

"Balto, Special Naval Warfare," the sailor rasped, doing her best to sound exactly like she had when she had made her security recording. Eyes flicking from the ceiling to stare hopefully at the keypad when she heard a beep.

Green light. She pounded the 'open' button and called over her shoulder as the barrier slid away, "Let's fucking go! Less than 7 minutes!"

Jenner's eyes shot to her face, and the two stared at each other for a moment as the survivors started madly gathering their things and rushing through the door. The hunter dragging Glenn down the hallway when the kid tried to pause to reach for her as he passed, the gruff man yelling, "She'll come, man, she'll come!"

She kept her gaze calm, challenging the doctor to try to keep them there with a slight glare of her brows. But there was no fight in the eyes that held hers, and Jenner offered her a nod. Accepting that although he may now die alone, at least it was on his own terms.

With the nod she glanced away from the doctor, the sailor's glare instead finding Andrea and Dale arguing in the center of the room. And Jacqui, Jacqui was still in there… seated next to Jenner with one of her small hands grasped in his. The sailor made to move towards them, to yell at them to stop being idiots and run, but as she stepped forward a hand stopped her.

"C'mon Quinn, move!" Rick exclaimed as he gripped her arm and started pulling her down the hallway after the running feet of the others, "They've made their choice," he continued. His honest eyes shining with sorrow as he glanced back at the control room as they sprinted down the hallway.

Skidding out into the main atrium of the CDC, the sailor and the sheriff were faced with yet another obstacle.

Shane was firing shots into the glass walls of the front of the building with his shotgun, causing nothing but small cracks as he yelled in frustration. Near him the rest of the men were beating at the glass with whatever blunt object they could find; T dog even hefted a chair at the expanse. But nothing was working

Quinn flipped her rifle from her back to jam into her shoulder, cursing her poor luck that she hadn't brought her larger weapon as she moved towards the glass windows with Rick.

"We must have less then 3 minutes now," the sailor rasped to the sheriff as she experimentally fired off a shot at the glass. The round stuck, creating a large spider web crack, but still not breaking through. _Fuck._

"I know, just keep firing. Those are the most powerful rounds we got," Rick responded, eyes darting around looking for ideas. They were so close to escape only to be burned alive now.

Light footsteps padded up behind the pair as Quinn fired off another round, and a scared looking Carol prodded Rick gently in the shoulder. The lean man spun to look at her, eyes lighting up like a fire when he saw what she pulled out of her purse.

A grenade.

"I found this when I did your laundry that first day… do you think it could help?" the pretty gray haired woman asked honestly, stepping back with slight surprise as the sailor spun to face her with her rifle still pressed to her shoulder.

Quinn met the sheriff's eyes over the explosive and nodded, sending him sprinting toward the window carrying the thing as she yelled as loud as she could, "Grenade! Get back, get back!" Dragging Carol and Sophia with her as she dashed behind a large concrete art structure.

The men beating at the wall scattered, finding hiding places as quickly as they could when they heard Rick pull the pin and throw.

The building shook with the explosion. Glass shattered.

"Run! Make for the cars!" the sailor could hear Rick yelling as she broke into a sprint, pulling the mother and daughter along with her. Yanking them across the tile atrium to leap out of the hole the grenade blown open.

Feet pounded on the concrete of the parking lot, the survivors running full out across the expanse as they sensed the time until the 'decontamination' must be almost up.

A weight lifted from the sailor's hand that had been towing Sophia, and the freckled woman looked to her side in panic. Hoping that the girl had not tripped, they were still too close to the building. Quinn's blue eyes found blue, the hunter held the little blonde in his arms as he ran near her side. She tugged Carol faster, no longer fearful of losing the child in the dash toward her Subaru.

"Duck behind the car!" She called to Daryl as she practically threw Carol behind the vehicle.

He nodded, crouching and dragging the mother and daughter down with him, hopefully to where they would be safe from shrapnel. A strong arm covering each of their heads.

Quinn still stood slightly away from her car, wide eyes on the entrance of the CDC where Dale and Andrea were just now climbing out of the hole. She glanced over to where Glenn was yelling frantically for them to run from the door RV, and then down at the hunter crouched behind her car. "Keep them safe," she rasped as Daryl's eyes found hers, before she shot toward the pair still struggling to make it across the parking lot.

"Lee!" she heard the man shout as she sprinted away, "Lee!" he called again, his voice cracking with force as he yelled.

The shouts of her sidekick's voice mingled with the hunter's as she neared the blonde and the retiree. Bodily shoving a groaning corpse out of her way, she picked up her pace. There were maybe seconds left before the explosion, the sailor could feel it, the hair standing up on the back of her neck with anticipation.

Her hands found the fabric of two shirts, and she pulled as hard as she could, legs still churning as she threw herself and the stragglers behind the wreck of a HUM-V. The sailor curled around their bodies, arms wrapping around their heads and forcing them into her lap as she leaned over them.

The sky lit up, white hot, as the CDC exploded. Debris flying through the air as the sailor held Andrea and Dale to her body, the wrecked car that rested against her back burning her skin from the heat of the fire.

The air reeked of smoke and burning flesh.

Her head pounded, and her vision blurred from the noise and the shock wave, but the sailor could see the dead were now approaching. Drawn to the light and the sound. So she grabbed her two handfuls of shirt and started running. Again. Blind and deaf for the moment, but moving as fast as she could.

They were so close to escape.

Refusing to drop the pair, even as the sailor felt them stumble and the rapidness of their breath on her neck. Not letting go until they were safely in the large wingspan of T as he pulled them inside the RV.

Safe. For now.

As she turned the key in the ignition of her Subaru, preparing to pull out behind the hunter's blue truck that held the veteran's treasured chopper, a fist hit her in the shoulder. Hard.

"You're fucking terrifying, Q." came Glenn's voice from her passenger seat. His punch had been forceful, but his large brown eyes shone with relief as he smiled at her.

A smile spread across her freckled face in return as she pushed the car into drive and dragged her wheel to follow the truck, rasping softly, "Yeah, yeah…"

Through the little window in the back of the truck, barely visible around the chopper, she could just make out the hunter's middle finger raised in her direction.

Her smile grew slightly at the sight. _Yeah, yeah…_

* * *

Thanks for reading, review if you feel like it!

The highway herd and the terrors it brings are next, moving towards meeting the Greene's and some of my favorite scenes. The sailor will form a somewhat odd friendship with one of them.

Best,

GC


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Familiar vehicles sat dormant in an odd formation around a small house, the last one at the end of a cul-de-sac in some quiet Atlanta burb. Quiet before, quieter now.

The soft orange glow of streetlights cast long shadows around them, masking the littering of twice-dead bodies that spread across the driveway, lawn, and street. The RV parked carefully in the little driveway space, while the old blue truck, the Subaru, and the two jeeps rested in the yard. Acting as a wall between those now hidden inside the house and any curious dead that may have been missed.

Most slept, curled protectively around each other in the center of the sparse living room, completely still, too exhausted even to dream. Beaten down and worn out from a day that had started with so much promise, only to end in flames and smoldering rubble disappearing in rearview mirrors as they had once again fled for their lives.

Hope burning down with the CDC.

Four sat on the old shag carpet, awake and alert with weapons close at hand, slightly away from the knot of their sleeping companions. A crinkled road map of Georgia stretched across the floor between them. Three leaned over it, the sailor, the sheriff, and the deputy, peering down with tired eyes. Each tracing roads with a finger when they came up with a possible route, giving their explanation in a whisper barely audible.

One faced the door of the house, now locked and blockaded with an aging couch. Seated back to back with the only feminine form left awake, callused hands clutching a weighty crossbow. Ice blue eyes roving between the small windows, door, and those sleeping before him, Daryl listened closely to what the woman whose wild mane tickled his shoulder whispered to the other two hunched over the map. Imagining the line she must be drawing with one of her freckled fingers.

"…take this same highway you wanted, Shane. But instead of taking that westbound turn to Benning there, we keep headin' south…" came the sailor's soft rasp.

Three days ago, maybe four, time was running together a bit in his head... Especially with all the fuckin' mayhem they had been through in the past 24 hours… He had been dragged out from under the silver muzzle of the sheriff's gun, placated by a freckled face. The situation miraculously diffused in a few simple glances.

At least the situation involving him... After the sailor had coaxed him away from center stage with a firm tug on the weapon he had held, the pair had then watched the sheriff shift attention to argue with his partner about their next course of action. The hunter remembered how both had claimed to have the answer to their woes, with voices rising and eyes flashing like bulls before a fight. _Idiots._

When the lawmen's conversation had turned to Fort Benning, he had seen the flicker of recognition and panic in the sailor's soft blue eyes. Felt how she had stiffened at his side as the deputy sung its praises. And as the large man had argued the plan to the sheriff, she had glanced at him, a small hand still holding the hunter in place with its grip on his pickaxe. Those blue eyes reading him straight through his façade, the way they always could.

Analyzing, appearing to measure his weight as he had had so many do before. Just before he would usually be cast aside. He had thought: perhaps his latest outburst had been the final straw to drive away a trusted face. The only trusted face.

But Quinn Lee was not usual.

She did not weigh him, something about the way her eyes had moved over his face had made him realize that. The questions that had floated in her eyes had not been about him, but instead some dangerous bit of information she had held close to her chest…

He remembered how the scowl had lifted from his face with that epiphany, only to swiftly return as she had glanced away. Worried expression on her furrowed brow as she had turned back to the lawmen. The sailor had never judged his brother, through all his harsh slanderous ways. Never strayed from standing firmly at the veteran's side, the hunter had considered as his face had burned with shame. _Merle would kick yer ass for doubtin 'er._

So, as the survivors had trickled away to allow the partners to continue their discussion in private, back to burying their dead, the hunter had allowed himself to be dragged yet again by that damned pickaxe. Down toward a bloody and partially destroyed tent they had marched, the hunter's eyes caught on the swing of her mane of wild hair as he had waited for the sailor's explanation. Waiting, until finally a whispered story had fallen from her lips while they had carried the body of Ed Peletier far away from the weeping eyes of his family.

Over the swinging corpse of the wife-beater, the hunter had come to the same conclusion he had seen in the firm set of the sailor's jaw as she had finished her description of a D.N.F. order.

They could not, under any circumstance, go to Fort Benning. It would be suicide.

Now, sitting cross-legged with his back to the conversation, he still held the same belief. One that the sailor had quickly beaten into the heads of the deputy and sheriff when she had first pulled the wrinkled road map from her pack. Imploring them both to see her reasoning for keeping them in the dark, and to now accept that they had to find a new route, as they had gathered to sit on the musty shag carpet with only a flashlight illuminating the paper between them. Leaving little room for argument.

They had listened and accepted the situation much more quickly then the hunter had expected, not even the deputy had argued for long. But that was the magic of Quinn. If the sailor said it was too dangerous to go somewhere, then it was too fucking dangerous. No questions. Both lawmen were smart enough to realize that now…especially after the Atlanta run and the clusterfuck in the CDC. Made Daryl wonder why the two asshats ever made decisions without her _._ _Sexism ya dumbass._

Unfortunately removing Benning as a destination had still left them with a predicament: where the hell to go next. A conversation that the hunter was now keenly staying out of, content to keep watch while the trio traced the map.

The sailor flipped her ponytail over her shoulder as the long mane fell on to the map for the third time that night, grumbling as she did so. She had too much fucking hair.

Behind her she felt the hunter shift slightly, and Quinn knew she had again hit him with her hair for the third time that night. Which changed her grumbling to a small silent smirk; maybe if she bothered him enough he would turn around and help them pick a damn route. _Unlikely_.

Her gaze shifted between Rick and Shane in the dim light of the flashlight, waiting for them to accept her proposed destination. She could tell that neither disagreed with her that the Marine Corps Logistics Base was a logical destination, small enough not to have been overrun with civilians and structurally sound enough to still be standing, plus a hearty arsenal. The issue was that the two men refused to agree with one another. Well no, she thought as she met the gaze of the sheriff who had been as easy to plan with as one of her own men, only one of the lawmen was being difficult.

Shane fucking Walsh was acting like a disrespectful plebe and it was pissing her the hell off. If they weren't only feet away from their sleeping companions, and in a house that was likely surrounded with unaware corpses waiting for the sound of life, Quinn would have torn him apart by now. As the sailor's gaze floated from his honest eyed partner back to the large man's face, she cocked a heavy dark eyebrow at him. Wanting to make sure he knew that she was tired of his bullshit.

The hours left until daybreak were dwindling, they needed to decide where they were going _now_. Before the others woke up and panic ensued.

The deputy eventually folded under her gaze, although not before the sailor's raised eyebrow had sunken into a glare. Looking down at the roads she had traced he nodded. "So we make for this highway today?" he whispered with a finger on the map, looking between his partner and the sailor as he waited for their confirmation.

Two heads bobbed, and Rick clapped both the sailor and deputy on the back affectionately, muttering, "At least we have a plan now," before the lean man pushed himself off the carpet to pad over toward his sleeping family. Ignorant to the way his partner scowled jealously at his retreating figure.

"Fucking finally," came a quiet growl from over the sailor's shoulder.

Smiling slightly, Quinn shot an elbow out behind her in response. Earning herself a grunt from the impatient hunter as she rasped "Would've been quicker if you helped."

* * *

Fuel and necessity of spare parts meant two of the faithful vehicles that had guarded the house that night had to be abandoned come morning.

The deputy's wrangler and Daryl's old blue truck were the most logical choices, both got terrible gas mileage and had limited seating. So Shane piled moodily into the RV with Andrea, Dale, and T-dog, while the hunter chose to ride in solitude on his brother's chopper. Unwilling to abandon the machine that had been Merle's pride and joy.

He wove nonchalantly between the three caravanning vehicles as the miles ticked by, like a hawk circling some large lazy prey. The chopper's engine revving and roaring shamelessly as he went, bare arms being whipped by the warm Georgia wind.

"Damn…" came Glenn's voice from the sailor's left. Reclining comfortably in her passenger chair that seemed to be his permanently claimed seat, "that is the loudest thing I have ever heard in my life," he continued. His brown eyes following the chopper as Daryl sped by their window again.

The corner of Quinn's lips tugged up into a smile as she glanced between the back of the RV she was closely following, and the wings on the back of the hunter's leather vest as his chopper sped up alongside the large vehicle. She could definitely admit she was a bit jealous of the man at the moment, flying between their little trail of cars like those wings were real. "You clearly haven't been exposed to your own snoring, G," she rasped, eyes not leaving the road as her smile grew, "Imagine that bike but… mixed with mouth noises... and a drowning animal."

The was an indignant huff from her passenger seat before her copilot rebutted, "Excuse you, I don't snore! Someone would have told be by now…" his voice trailed off and the sailor could feel his eyes on her. Their weight a mix of play defensiveness and actual concern.

The sailor just shrugged. Still looking out at the road, trying to contain her smile as the kid at her side started to sputter again about how someone would have told him. His sisters, his mother, hell that one girlfriend he had in high school…someone would have told him.

"A drowning animal? Really?"

After a moment Quinn couldn't contain herself any longer and she let a smile break across her freckled face. Laughter shaking her as she glanced at the now thoroughly annoyed Glenn at her side; she took a hand off her wheel to ruffle his hair.

The young Korean punched her lightly on the arm in return, a smile shattering his attempt at anger as he responded, "You're lucky you're you… cause a lesser soul would feel the wrath for this." Brandishing his fist to emphasize his point as the freckled woman at his side burst into another fit of laughter.

Break lights.

The flash of red and the slowing RV ahead drew both laughing figures back to the road.

Quinn swore under her breath, and dragged the Subaru to the left to try and see past the large vehicle as the line of cars slowed to a halt.

Cars. Some abandoned, some wrecked, some with their deceased drivers rotting inside. The snarl seemed to stretch on for miles, as far as the sailor could see from her slight angle around the RV. After so much clear open road it seemed like a cruel trap set for survivors, to leave them vulnerable on the open road to die amongst those who'd died before them. So that this traffic mess would grow and grow as unwitting drivers added their cars to the jam.

Playing with the end of her curly mane, the sailor glanced between the wreck before them and her rearview mirror that showed the open road and the waiting sheriff behind. If they turned around it would take more gas then they had or could probably find to reach the intended destination, Quinn thought, watching little Carl poke his dad in her mirror. Probably asking why they were stopped.

Beside her, Glenn had pulled out the wrinkled road map of Georgia from her pack and was glaring down at it with his jaw set in a frown. Coming to the same conclusion about turning around that she had with each second he spent gaping at the spider web of roads.

"Fuck this…" he mumbled, looking up from the paper to stare at the wreckage again. Frown growing.

Quinn hummed her agreement, eyes searching the plain lands and forest that bordered the highway. Hoping to find a flat stretch. Her Subaru could manage that sort of off-road terrain, but the rest of their little caravan definitely could not. And the trusty hatchback only sat 5… maybe 7 if they didn't take any supplies. _Fuck this indeed._

The roar of the chopper sounded from up the road.

It seemed as if the hunter had managed to find a way through, the nimbleness of the bike allowing him to pick carefully around the wreckage.

The sailor and her copilot let out a tandem sigh of relief as the brake lights ahead flickered off and the RV slowly crept forward again; following the winding path Daryl began to weave. Easing a boot off her brake, Quinn carefully followed. Eyes roving between abandoned and wrecked cars as the caravan inched slowly forward.

Her stomach churned as the mirror of a van full of corpses scratched against her window, the screech of metal on metal adding to the creeping ominousness of the situation. It would not do them well to spend much time here, the sailor thought as she dragged her eyes from the rotting driver of the van back to the rear of the RV, survival training tensing her muscles as she guided the wheel. Who could tell how dead these corpses would stay.

Within the first minutes of the caravan's weaving, poor luck again struck the survivors. Maybe it had been longer. An hour, a minute, they all felt pretty similar when moving at a snail's pace.

The fickle machine that was Dale's RV sputtered, smoke pouring from the grill, bringing the train of cars to a stop amongst the traffic. It's patched and duct-taped radiator hose finally giving out, much to the retiree's chagrin.

Dale cranked the old thing into park with a huff and plodded outside with the deputy to assess the damage while the two following cars pulled up to park as close as they could. Rick and Quinn both warily glancing around from their driver's seats as they did so.

"If you can't find a radiator hose here…" Shane commented to the graying man as everyone stepped from their vehicles, a large hand gesturing to the menagerie of vehicles wrecked around them. This way practically a supermarket for supplies, the deputy thought, nodding to his partner when he saw the same idea in the sheriff's honest eyes.

As the roar of the chopper died, the hunter kicking the stand out next to the Subaru, the road fell silent. Dead. Like the graveyard Lori described it to be as the survivors gathered around the smoking front of the RV. They fell silent at her words, all at some level uncomfortable with the idea of grave robbing.

But the whole world was a grave now…

Despite the thin brunette's protests the survivors would search for supplies. The two lawmen glanced at another face before making a shopping list for the group, waiting for her nod to assure that it was the right call, that they couldn't waste this opportunity. Food, water, clothing, hopefully some gasoline, and definitely a new radiator hose were all listed before orders were shouted and the group fanned out. Rick and Dale designated to keep watch over them with rifles and binoculars as they did so.

Crouched on top of a dented suburban, Quinn flipped open the vehicle's roof cargo box.

It hadn't been locked like those types of storage boxes generally are. _Convenient._ She shifted through its contents, hoping to find loose propane canisters that would fit her little camp stove. Segments of different conversations floating her way had the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she searched.

Behind her somewhere the bucket-hatted retiree was quizzing Glenn about what screwdriver one should use to fix a radiator hose. Their voices carried across several wrecks up to her roost, loud with frustration as they tinkered with the old vehicle. But it was amicable frustration, her copilot was catching on quickly to Dale's mechanics lessons and the sailor could hear the laughter in their chatter.

Off the suburban's nose, near a dated sedan that had likely been rear ended by the metal monster she perched on top of, two more voices could be heard.

T-dog and Daryl, a pair that she knew would have been an impossible sight pre-apocalypse, were swapping stories of how they learned to siphon gasoline. Both sounding thoroughly amused with one another as they banged at the gas flap of the sedan, trying to get it open. After a short bark of the hunter's laughter Quinn was pretty sure she heard a gravelly voice state, "Fuck, thought you worked for a church, man."

Her smile grew a bit at that.

It seemed the owners of the suburban really put an emphasis on clothes when they were packing. The cargo box was nearly filled with different fashion items, too delicate for their current needs. It seemed Carol had run into a similar issue, out of the corner of her eye the sailor could see the woman holding up a bright red dress.

"Ed never let me wear anything this nice…."

It had been a quiet mumble, like an off-handed thought, but the sailor hung her head at the sound. Running a freckled hand over her face, she tried to draw her mind away from the string of memories she held featuring Carol's tear-stained face and blatant bruises back at the quarry. But her eyes drifted across the road of their own accord, settling on the red dress in thin hands. Quinn hadn't noticed the abuse at first, as their paths hadn't crossed much for the first few weeks, but eventually she had. She had and the sailor had waited, waited to see if it would stop or if it was a one-time attack. Waited like a naïve child… A SEAL should have known better. Anyone should have known better.

Flicking her long mane over her shoulder, the sailor tore her eyes away from the woman with the red dress. It didn't do Carol any good to be consumed by her lack of action in the past, the sailor thought as she stared down at the array of overly fancy clothing on top of the suburban. She just had to be better now… Quick to see, quick to act.

Quinn started tossing chiffon blouses carelessly over her shoulder as her search neared the bottom of the box; they had to have hidden something in the mess of fabric.

"Hey!" A giggling voice called from below her, stopping the sailor's search.

She spun, looking down to the road to find a widely grinning Sophia. The girl was pulling a blue blouse off of her head, it appeared Quinn's shirt tossing had caught the kid off guard. The sailor shrugged at her, feigning innocence as she rasped, "Thought it was your color?" Drawing another round of giggles from the girl.

Shuffling feet. Approaching groans drifted toward them in the warm air.

"Walkers! Get down!" came the sheriff's forced whisper, drawing all eyes toward the RV.

The survivors scattered. Darting under cars as quickly as they could and pulling their companions down with them when their gaze settled on what approached. A herd. A fucking herd of the dead was shuffling toward them down the highway.

Swearing in her head the sailor glanced from the space next to a silently crying Sophia under a SUV to the stumbling corpses. They were too close now, they would notice if she jumped from her roost to make for that spot. In seconds the dead would be among them. Quinn held a finger up to her lips as she met the little girl's gaze, pleading with her to be still and quiet before the sailor crawled inside of the cargo box.

One long combat knife clutched in hand, the freckled woman held the lid of the box over herself, leaving just enough of a crack open see out. As the bodies started bumping against the suburban, shaking it with their mindless wandering, Quinn held her breath and cursed her stupidity for not staying on the ground. She should be under that SUV hiding the children… And where was Glenn? Had he found a hiding spot? And the hunter? The sailor's mind whirled with worry as she watched body after body pass by from her little crack. Wishing she had brought any of her firearms with her when she had climbed out of her car into this trap.

The walkers seemed to be ignorant to their presence. Sticking loyally to their herd as they moved down the highway. No screams had sounded yet, the sailor noted thankfully as she tried to make out her companions under cars through the crowd of dead still limping by. No screams and no frenzy of feeding that would mean someone had been found.

As she lay in the cargo box the sailor could feel something hard that had been hidden beneath the piles of clothing. A gun shaped something hard if she wasn't mistaken. _They had hidden something._ Eyes still outside she reached down with her free hand to try and decipher what it was. Metal and wood, thick barrel, simple body… could be a hunting rifle of some kind. Probably pretty old going off the weight.

The heads of the dead bobbing by the suburban thinned, only a couple corpses a minute. The sailor could now make out most of her comrades from their hiding spots. All as still as possible as they watched the feet passing become less frequent.

The air split with a single terrified scream. _Sophia._

Quinn knew the sound of a little girl's scream like she knew the sound of footsteps or of pounding rain. _No._ Exploding from the cargo box in a shower of chiffon shirts, the sailor leapt down from the suburban. Her own safety forgotten.

Taking the hidden weapon with her she hit the ground in a sprint, chasing the heels of the sheriff as he too followed the child now fleeing into the woods. At least two corpses paced between them and that terrified girl.

As the SEAL hurdled the metal highway barrier after Rick, the hunter's words from days earlier reeled through her mind. Again and again. A mantra as she flew over tree roots and brush.

'She ain't gonna get bitten when we're standin' like a foot from 'er…'

 _Fucking right she isn't._

* * *

The cries of a newborn echoed in the hallway. Piercing easily through the closed door that hid the new mother and father.

Two men pushed off the wall they had been leaning heavily on for the past several hours. Directly across from that door.

One was tall and broad, with dark hair and tan skin. An intricate Samoan tattoo visible under the short sleeve of a tight blue shirt. He dropped a large hand on his companion's shoulder as the two stared at the door as the cries continued. "Let's meet the new addition," he stated, but both seemed hesitant about crossing the threshold into such an intimate moment.

The other man, shorter and thinner with a buzz of gray hair, sighed and gestured them forward with a bandaged stump. They were sailors, what is a birthing room to war…

Both froze to stare with mouths gaping when they entered the room. Such a small perfect thing, that baby. All curly brown hair and blue eyes as it stopped crying to gaze at them.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Through the flash of branches and leaves they could see her little form stumbling through the forest, barely ahead of the pursuing dead.

The sailor and the sheriff paced neck and neck as they weaved beneath the foliage, trying to head off the corpses. To put themselves between the bloodied reaching hands and the fleeing girl. Rick could hear their ragged hungry groans as he and his fellow rescuer watched Sophia trip in a flurry of dead leaves, the grotesque sound sending shivers down his spine. She would be dead in seconds, devoured by those putrid mouths.

Forcing their way through tight-knit branches, the runners burst out into the path of the walkers. For a breath the two rescuers stood panting and sweaty, staring into the dead eyes of the approaching predators. Deciding between fight and flight.

Suddenly, Rick was jolted towards the fallen child, now crying in the leaves, by a firm push as the sailor commanded, "Pick her up, let's go!"

It seemed it would be flight.

He stooped immediately, pulling Sophia into his arms just as he heard a rush of air and the heavy 'thwack' of wood on bone. His companion was beating back the closest corpse, swinging an old hunting rifle like a bat to give him time to get back to his feet while holding the girl.

"Quinn!" the sheriff called over his shoulder as he started running again, one arm tight around Sophia's shaking body as he waved the sailor forward with the other.

After a moment, rustling leaves and raspy swearing sounded from Rick's side as Quinn fell into step with him again. He glanced quickly at her as they ran, reading the same frustration churning in his mind in her furrowed brow as the sailor looked over her shoulder at the still oncoming dead. They couldn't shoot them because of the damn sound, and they couldn't stop to fight them for fear of Sophia's life. They had to get the girl somewhere safe.

The sheriff squeezed Sophia in an attempt to comfort her as he ran, his heart aching as he felt her tears dampening his shirt as she wept into his chest. The girl was absolutely petrified. He glanced over his shoulder, wondering how far they had strayed from the highway after he and the sailor jumped over a small creek. If they turned back too early they could risk running head long into their pursuers, but the sheriff worried that the further they headed into this forest the harder it would be to find the highway. To find his family and to get the crying girl back to her mother.

Leaves crunching under heavy footfalls as he dashed as carefully as he could over threatening roots and fallen branches, Rick took a sharp right around a wide trunked-tree and some densely woven shrubbery. Hearing the sailor skid slightly to turn after him, he barreled down the new path, hoping to gain some ground on their less-nimble pursuers.

"Shit!"

A half eaten deer carcass lay before the runners, and over it hunched three blood-covered figures. Clothes dirtied and bloodied, and skin rotting, the reanimated corpses turned to snarl up at their new prey. Glazed eyes staring blindly in the pair's direction as they groaned hungrily at the scent of the living, the trio of corpses shuffled slowly to their feet.

In a flash of brown curls and a swinging rifle, Quinn leapt in front of the sheriff and the terrified girl he held. A feral growl rivaling those of the dead escaping her chest. As wood connected with the skull of one of the dead, she rasped, "Run Rick, get her out of here!"

He hesitated, frozen with Sophia clutched to his chest as he watched the butt of the rifle smack into the chest of one of the corpses. Making it stumble backwards under the weight of the sailor's swing. He couldn't leave her on her own could he? Every ounce of his police training screamed at him not to leave his partner, that he had to cover her back even if it meant they both went down.

"Go! I'll find you!" She called, shoving him away from her side with a freckled hand, eyes flicking over to his from the corpse she had yet to hit.

He saw the resignation in her soft blue eyes, and he knew the sailor had already weighed the situation and determined that a stand would be the child's best bet at getting back to her mother. Sophia, they had to save Sophia at all costs. The lean man nodded in acceptance, tearing his eyes away from the woman's face to glance around for an escape route.

A black boot flew out to kick an approaching body in the chest, forcing it away from the sheriff as he took off running again, back in the direction they had come from. Back towards the original pursuers, he thought as he quickened his pace. It seemed they had no luck on this god-forsaken day. Over his shoulder he heard the sailor's weapon thump against bone again as she rasped out what could only be a battle cry.

" _Hooyahhhh_!"

Soon the pounding of his own pulse and the groans of the two pursuing walkers drowned out any sounds of his companion's fight, leaving the sheriff with nothing but faith that she would be able to follow him. His arms tightened around Sophia as he picked up his pace, boots hitting the soft earth that signaled the oncoming creek-bed.

A creek could mean a clearing, and a clearing would be his best bet to face off with the dead.

Ahead he could see a large thicket of roots on the side of the creek-bank, a perfect spot to hide the terrified girl while he led away their pursuers. Even better then the clearing he had been hoping for. There the girl could hide and wait in safety for him to come back, or hopefully for the sailor to find her and take her back to the highway.

Quinn would be easily following his heavy-footed path through the forest now, the sheriff prayed, as he pleaded with Sophia to stay silent and hidden in the thicket.

She was probably only seconds behind.

* * *

The girl was gone.

Rick had been able to lure the two corpses from the highway away from Sophia and the thicket, bringing them both down with nothing but a large rock. Forcing the sheriff to have to slowly bludgeon each monster's head in. A bloody and exhausting process that left him sweat-drenched and panting when he had paced back to search for the girl.

The thicket had been empty; some small footprints had been squelched in the mud showing where the girl had left. But only small footprints. Sophia had fled out from hiding alone.

As the sheriff had jogged back up to the highway, he had held on to the hope that Quinn had found the girl. Taken her safely back up to her mother… Despite the lack of the SEAL's footprints in the mud and the silence that had greeted him when he had called her name as he headed for the highway, she must have killed those corpses and followed him. He had to have made the right call about leaving her to fight on her own. Rick desperately needed to be able to trust his own judgment.

But when he had clambered over the metal barrier back onto the asphalt, the atmosphere of the group had not been the cheer of reunion.

Terrified faces. Wide eyes. Hands over mouths and slight gasps had greeted him when he had emerged alone. Tears had fallen relentlessly from Carol's bloodshot eyes as she had begged to know where her daughter was, and two men in the group had eyed him with looks bordering on betrayal as they had stood next to the black Subaru. Rick had met his wife's gaze over the head of their son and had waited for her to shake her head before he believed it, really believed it.

They had not made it back. The sailor and the little girl were still in the woods.

A search party had quickly been organized.

The sheriff, leading the way back down into the forest with his partner, Glenn, and Daryl, answered questions that the three men fired off about the events of the chase. Namely, how the fuck he managed to lose a god damned Navy SEAL in the woods, as a frustrated Shane had so lightly put it. A comment that had the hunter come the closest to agreeing with the deputy that he had in a long time.

The gruff man was not concealing his hostility toward the fact that his closest friend was not currently accounted for. His brows were firmly furrowed and his responses terse as he glared down at the path, looking for signs of the girl or the sailor.

Glenn had been quick to forgive the sheriff, much to Rick's relief, as he desperately wanted someone to understand the situation he had been in. The delivery boy could never hold a grudge against a friend for long, the sheriff thought as he explained to the three men as he stood over the half-eaten deer, that here Quinn had ordered him to run onward. Faced with three more attackers she had made a call, and he had obeyed.

Around the deer carcass laid three dead corpses, all mangled as if beaten to death. Plus a stab wound to each skull for good measure. But no Quinn.

From the deer, Daryl was able to track the sailor's path down toward the creek where Sophia had been hidden. His sharp eyes picking up broken twigs and displaced foliage that the sheriff wouldn't have noticed even if he had spent the whole day searching. This lead the quartet to more confusion as to why there were only the girl's footprints in the creek, and why Quinn hadn't headed back to the highway.

"Maybe the kid didn't understand your directions," Shane stated boldly as they stood in the creek staring at the thicket with ranging expressions of confusion. "Maybe she ran the wrong way and then Quinn found nothing but an empty thicket when she came down here." He continued.

As Rick made to respond, the hunter grunted what could have been an agreement with the deputy as he plucked a broken twig off the creek bed and peered back up the bank toward the highway.

"She understood me fine!" the sheriff insisted, shooting his partner an exasperated look as he watched Daryl climb out of the creek bed and beckon Glenn with his head. The sleeveless man was holding a small piece of gray fabric out to the young Korean, both ignoring the lawmen's conversation even as the deputy responded.

"Alright, alright. We're gonna find her. She's gonna be tuckered out hiding in a bush somewhere." The large man stated, nodding to his partner as the two climbed out of the creek after Daryl and Glenn.

They regrouped after a few minutes of trailing after the hunter, stopping where he said that Sophia's footprints had suddenly veered off the path back to the highway.

As they stood, sweat seeping through their shirts in the Georgia heat and deciding who should head back to the main group to placate everyone, Daryl held out the small piece of gray fabric that the sheriff had seen him show the deliver boy earlier on the bank. It was a well-worn chunk of a familiar t-shirt that the two lawmen immediately recognized.

"Found this snagged on a branch back near the creek, 's a bit of Lee's shirt. 'er footprints were near fucking impossible to track after I found this, so she musta calmed down… which could mean she caught up with Sophia 'n we just wouldn't be able ta see…" The hunter explained, crouched near a clear Sophia-sized footprint, allowing the sheriff to take the fabric as he glared at some slightly displaced leaves. Pointing at his discovery he continued, "Cause this could be her, but it also could be from Sophia bein' scared and clumsy."

The three men standing nodded at his words, none really seeing what he was pointing at, but trusting him all the same.

Rick and Shane exchanged a glance; both knowing only the hunter would be able to follow the trail now. It was time for half of their little search party to run back and occupy those on the highway. Shane would go they decided. With a pat to his partner's back and a promise of thinking of menial tasks for their companions, he headed back to the road, taking a worried Glenn with him.

Before the pair left, the sheriff had been a little shocked to see Daryl pull the young Korean into a firm one-armed hug. Bringing the kid's head in close to his own, the gruff man had whispered something to Glenn, too low for the lawmen to hear, and then shoved him after the deputy with a curt nod. Leaving the delivery boy with an expression closer to determination then panicked worry as he had followed Shane.

The path forward was slow and meticulous.

Rick waited as patiently as he could, trying to restrain himself from asking questions that would distract the focused man tracking before him. Bent leaves, slight scuffs in the dirt, a slightly displaced twig, all seemed to be as clear as footsteps to the hunter. At one point the sheriff opened his mouth to ask how the fuck the sleeveless man was seeing what he was, but the growled albeit somewhat sarcastic response silenced any other questions.

"Do you wanna fucking tracking lesson, or do ya wanna find the kid?"

So he kept his mouth shut. Shut until the pair heard the gurgling growl of a corpse.

Their eyes shot up from the trail to rest on a slowly moving body ahead, belly engorged and mouth bloody, the thing had recently eaten. Both men's eyes widened as they stared at the stomach, jumping to the worst conclusion as Daryl raised his crossbow to his shoulder to set the thing in his sites. Swearing under his breath the hunter nocked an arrow.

With a rush of air and a thump the bolt struck the corpse's skull, collapsing the body to the ground in a flurry of leaves.

The two men rushed to examine its fingertips and mouth, looking for bits of skin that could give clues as to what it had recently eaten. Brows heavily furrowed as they peered down at the bloody mess that covered most of the monster's front from its recent meal. There was definitely skin in its teeth, they realized as Rick pulled a large chunk out from the thing's mouth with a gloved hand and let out a frustrated rush of air. Skin wasn't enough for them to know for sure what had been eaten…

The sheriff met Daryl's sharp eyes over the body, both knowing what had to be done. Rick made to draw his knife from his belt, but the hunter shook his head, taking a large knife from a sheath somewhere on his person.

"I'll do it," he muttered, glaring at the bloated stomach, "mine's sharper."

As Rick watched the hunter slice open the body and begin searching through its organs with the back of his hand held over his face to try and stop the smell, the sheriff's mind whirled with worries for the two missing females. Sophia, such a quiet innocent thing, would be scared stiff running around these woods alone. Fear would make her clumsy, and clumsiness could mean she was in the belly of the monster before him, he thought as Daryl produced the stomach bag.

His worries for the sailor were different, the sheriff pondered, watching the contents of the stomach fall onto the ground with the slice of the hunter's knife. Flinching at the smell and the sound. He worried for the structure of the group without her, if god forbid she stayed separated from them…because she couldn't be dead. Not the woman who had always come away unscathed. Towing others to safety with her. But if she didn't come back he feared the survivors would divide, and eventually splint. Fissures would spring without her sensible tone, as he and Shane methods didn't work in every situation. A fact well proven.

The hunter drew Rick's attention back to the task at hand as the sleeveless man growled, "Just a woodchuck," and threw a rodent skull over his shoulder.

With a sigh the sheriff nodded and pushed off his legs to stand, stating, "At least we know," as he rose.

"At least we know," Daryl repeated, standing as well and discarding his now gut-covered gloves on the ground. Glare still firmly set on his face.

The sun had fallen significantly in the sky since Rick had first sprinted off the highway after the flash of blonde hair. The shadows among the trees were stretching longer, signally the lateness of the day. Dappled by the growing shade, the two sweaty men stared down dejectedly once more at the shambles of the corpse they had dissected before padding back toward the road.

Darkness would soon kill the trail and the only news they had to bring back was of that fucking body.

Carol's reaction had been the most extreme, but the sheriff had expected that, he thought as he stood off from the group. Banishing himself to stand on top of a wrecked sedan so he could be alone with his thoughts in the now setting sun.

She had wept into Andrea's chest, accusing him of abandoning her daughter and refusing to meet his eyes as the blonde woman had offered him a sympathetic look over Carol's quaking shoulder. Her mind stuck in the horrible loop a mother sees when her child is in mortal danger. Death in every shape and form.

It was Glenn's reaction he hadn't expected. As he scanned the mural of warm colors in the sky, Rick remembered the look of panic that had passed in the kid's eyes when he had seen the sheriff and hunter emerge from the forest. Expecting to see a freckled face, and nearly breaking down when he did not. That's when Daryl had run from the sheriff's shoulder to pull the young Korean off to the side of the group. One of the gruff man's dirty hands on the back of Glenn's head to keep his attention as they held a whispered conversation away from the rest.

When the two had rejoined the group they wore unreadable expressions, and both stayed pensively quiet as the others schemed about search plans and Carol wept.

Rick ran a hand through his short hair, wiping sweat off his brow in the process. He hadn't expected the delivery boy to rely so heavily on the sailor. When he had first met the kid, Glenn had been so confidently fearless and Quinn had been nowhere near him. But the sheriff was now beginning to realize that the young Korean had gotten that confidence from working side by side with the sailor time and time again, and without her he seemed as lost as Robin without Batman.

Light footsteps sounded from the asphalt below Rick's perch, drawing his eyes from the sky down to the sharp blue of the approaching Daryl Dixon. That's where the hunter came in, the sheriff thought as he turned to face the sleeveless man. It seemed the man was standing in for the sailor in her absence. Keeping the kid's nerves together as best he could, just like Lori had explained to him that Quinn used to do with Merle. _Before you left him in a damn loading bay…_

"Imma keep watch tonight. Don't want some idiot accidently shootin' 'em if they come out of the woods in the dark." The hunter growled as Rick jumped off the car and the two walked back toward the others together. Both eyeing the darkening forest as they went.

There was no movement on the tree line that night.

* * *

"You gotta run! Please kid, go and don't look back! The others will find you, I promise."

The moon sat high above the trees, casting a ghostly light over the clearing and making the white walls of the little church glow. Through the single pane windows the pale shine illuminated the rows of old pews inside, and cast shadows over the moaning figures of the approaching dead.

Slumped against the wall next to the open front door, the sailor again tried to push the crying blonde girl out of the building. The walkers would soon figure out how to maneuver around the pews and reach them. Clutching her heavily bleeding side, Quinn let out a quiet gasp of pain and tried to tie her now soaked-through shirt tighter across her bare stomach. She would pass out soon. Maybe minutes, maybe seconds. It didn't matter, all that mattered was the scared face of Sophia that stood before her, refusing to run.

The closest corpse stumbled on dead limbs and fell from the pew that had it trapped into the aisle.

Quinn drew one of her long combat knives from her back and thrust the handle into the girl's hands. "Take this and go. Run, you have to run," she ordered, meeting Sophia's watering eyes with a firm stare. Waiting for the kid to give a feeble nod before shoving her as had as she could out of the door.

"Go!" the sailor called as she forced herself to her feet again, fighting the darkness rimming her vision as she slammed the church door shut behind the fleeing girl. Closing herself in with the hungry dead.

With a deep shaking breath, Quinn drew her second knife from her back. Her only remaining weapon. Raising it as the body that had fallen in the aisle limped nearer, drawn to the scent of fresh flowing blood, the sailor calmed herself. _At least the girl will live._

Teeth gnashed and the dagger whistled, sharp against air and flesh.

Darkness claimed her senses.

* * *

Bells.

Ringing clearly through the trees, perking up the heads of the search party like frightened deer.

Eyes met, taking in hopeful faces as the survivors gathered together to all stare in the direction of the sound. Bells meant a church with a bell tower, bell towers are manual, and some one was ringing that bell.

Someone took off running, Glenn maybe, drawing the rest to dash after him as the bells began to ring again.

It was the lead they needed after a search that had so far only produced frustration and found only a tent with a long-dead suicide case. The sun was hot and the air heavy with humidity, adding a sheen of sweat to the frustration that had mounted in the group as they had trekked through the dense woods calling out the little girl's name. Not yet to be answered.

The search crew burst out of the woods into a clearing that held a small white church as the bells stopped again. Small, white, and steeple-less.

Shane swore loudly as he skidded to a stop in front of the building between his partner and the hunter, shouting, "It's the wrong damn church!" as he did.

Behind the three men, Carol leaned heavily into Andrea and Lori, trying hard not to burst into another fit of sobs as she stared at the building. At her side, pale little Carl cocked his head as he watched his father start arguing with the deputy about whether or not they should go inside, not understanding why they wouldn't just check the building.

"There's no steeple, man!" the deputy shouted as Rick gestured Daryl and Glenn to his sides to kick open the door of the church. The sheriff completely ignoring his partner.

The wooden door flew open and the three men paced inside, weapons raised, with Shane close at their heels still muttering defiantly. There were several animated corpses waiting for them amongst the pews, reaching over the wooden barriers with bloodied hands and gnashing teeth they growled at the intruders. Only to be quickly dispatched by jab of a knife or the fly of a bolt.

The bells sounded again. Loud and musical. Definitely from the little church the quartet of panting men stood inside.

Glenn's eyes darted around the room, catching a wire trailing around the ceiling and out the top of one of the single-pane windows. Caulked in permanently. He dashed outside, and suddenly the bells silenced, replaced by the young Korean's loud swearing as he re-entered the church followed by the women and Carl, holding out a timer with severed wires.

"It was on a timer." He stated, tossing the device to the ground and exiting the church. Tone displaying defeat.

The hunter followed him out, cursing under his breath as he went. Both dropped to sit in the grass outside, facing away from the little white building. Eyes searching the trees ahead for signs of movement. For signs of freckles and curly hair.

As the others made to leave the church, to give Carol a moment alone at the small alter, Carl's panicked shout stopped their steps. The boy stood frozen, staring at the pew closest to the door with his mouth open in fear.

The body had moved, the body on the floor under the bench had definitely moved.

"Dad!" he exclaimed, pointing at the body as it twitched again.

Rick darted to his side, followed by the others still inside the little building. All curious, they gathered around the boy, peering down at the twice dead body he was fixating on. The thing seemed to have too many limbs…

"Fuck," the sheriff muttered, gently pushing his son into his wife's arms before bending down to roll the corpse with the knife wound in the forehead off what lay beneath. He brought a hand up to his mouth as his honest eyes grew with shock. _Quinn._

The woman had been near-perfectly concealed beneath the thing's body, probably saving her from being eaten by the other dead that had been trapped inside the church. Her freckled face was splatted with blood, as were her bare shoulders and sports bra. Her shirt was fixed around her abdomen, thoroughly soaked through with her own blood. It seemed all of her exposed skin was stained red to some degree. _What happened to you…_

Rick reached out to feel the pulse at the sailor's neck as Andrea whispered, "Is she alive?" Voice quivering like she was scared to hope.

Faint beats thudded under his fingertips.

Footsteps thumped up the stairs and into the building over the sheriff's shoulder as he waited to feel it again, and he barely heard Glenn's sob behind him and the hunters murmured, 'It's her. It's her, man,' as he responded.

"Yes."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

A somehow buzzing silence filled the air, heavy with burning smoke despite the layer of snow. Drowning her in pain yet numbing her senses all the same.

The result of an explosion. White hot against the perfect white sheet covering the village. Fire burning down small wooden buildings, but unable to melt the layers of surrounding ice…

Drip.

Drip…drip.

Three spots of red fell in slowly from her fingertip to splash at her feet, contrasting clearly against such a painfully blank expanse. The trail of blood flowed freely down her arm from numerous jagged gashes spanning her back and neck, the worst of which gaped at the back of her head. Right at the base of her skull, matting the charred curls that hung there with a layer of red.

She stared down at the three spots against the white, waiting to feel the burn of still-hot shrapnel cutting into her torn skin, but it did not come. Not the way it should have.

Not the way she remembered it…

Only a sharp throbbing pain in her side tugged at her nerves. Perhaps she was dead. Stuck reliving the final moments of life without the excruciation of the incident.

Another fierce throb of pain silenced that theory in the delusional spin of her mind. Something was off; missing from this moment she stood in, staring down at the contrast of red on white.

Muffled voices barely audible reached her buzzing ears, those of her men… the ones she had come to rescue. Strong, fearless SEALs that had endured too much in this little snow-capped village. Bound and beaten.

" _Dad!"_

No. Not men, a child.

Her mind whirled… trying to recall seeing a child before the flash of light. An ache spanned her brow as she searched her memory… _Her memory_.

The scene of snow and fire clouded slowly into the darkness of the back of her eyelids.

Another throb struck her side, making her face flinch and her arms twitch.

But the darkness remained. Cool and calming, definitely reality.

It was still haunting her, that moment of deafness and searing pain that had seemed so out of place amongst the mountains of that picturesque village. Picturesque before the blast… That moment she could never truly recover from.

The image of red on white, and of her men on that old wooden sled, always waited at the corners of her subconscious. Seizing the reins whenever possible and blurring reality.

Perhaps she was losing her mind… _Where is that little bottle with the white cap?_

No. Not yet.

She was still in control.

The mumbling that floated around her was clearing now, sounding more and more like words flitting from familiar voices.

She was waiting for one in particular. Eyes closed, body still trapped somewhere between dreaming and wakefulness. Waiting to force herself back into full-consciousness until she heard the high tone of that little girl. The last voice she could remember before the inhuman snarl of the dead and the whistle of her own knife.

But it did not come.

"Why isn't she waking up?"

They had moved the pew and the corpse that had hidden the unconscious sailor from view, clearing enough space to gather around her prone form. Rick and Glenn knelt on either side of her, both with brows drawn in concern as their eyes darted from Quinn's closed eyes to the blood stained t-shirt crusting to her abdomen. Waiting for signs of stirring.

The question had come from the young Korean, whose worry only grew as the minutes stretched on since they had found the sailor. Hands wringing together as if fidgeting would expel some of the feeling. His closest friend had been returned to him, but still seemed so out of reach. He glanced across her body to the sheriff, giving him a little nod and fighting to hide how his eyes pricked with tears. Begging him to try harder to rouse her.

"Quinn!" Rick called again, giving the freckled woman's shoulder a firm shake. Hoping to finally see some life in her bloodstained body.

Nothing.

The two kneeling men hung their heads, dejected, as chatter sprung up behind them. Shane had just stomped back into the building, having left shortly after his partner found the woman. Seeing her had kindled hope in him that the little blonde Sophia would be hiding near by, and the deputy had dragged a less then willing Daryl with him out to search the trees bordering the clearing.

"Found some signs that Sophia ran off that way," The large man stated with a gesture out the door of the church into the forest. "We're losing light quick, we need to start the search up again, man, "He continued, eyes on Rick.

After a moment of contemplation, the sheriff met the deputy's eyes and nodded. Pushing himself off his knees to stand he swiveled around to address the group now gathered in full inside the little white church. Drawing the attention of all but the still knelt Glenn, and the hunter who had moved to crouch near him.

The two murmured together with heads close and eyes on the face of the unconscious woman before them, forming their own plans as Rick began to speak.

"Shane is right, some of us should definitely still be out their searching," the lean man started, glancing between the faces of his companions, "But I think its time some of us head back to the highway."

Carol nodded at his words, eyes with tears still ever present since her daughter had gone missing, she had requested to go back to the RV. Unwilling to see another dead-end in the search that day.

The discussion of who should stay and who should go stretched on, sometimes heated, above the heads of two men who gave it no mind. Their concern on an issue they deemed more pressing as they hovered protectively over the sailor. How they would move her, and what they would do if they were attacked and she didn't wake up.

They couldn't just leave her to die.

The sheriff called Glenn's name, drawing him to stand and join in the conversation. Leaving the hunter alone crouched near the sailor's head.

As the others explained the plan for splitting up to the delivery boy, Daryl's sharp eyes settled on the freckled bridge of her nose. The marks there were so dainty, scattered across her face like a sky of stars… accentuating her delicate features in a way uniquely Quinn. The hunter could almost forget the deadly accuracy of her rifle, or expertise with a knife as he took in the soft curve of her lips and the sharp fall of her cheekbones. Unconscious she seemed serenely feminine. Beautiful.

Her wavy hair was pooled around her head, mostly escaped from its tie… reminding him of how it had floated gently on the lake of the quarry all of those weeks ago. He let out a soft rush of air, the corners of his eyes creasing as he took in her face. Committing every freckle to memory. She would wake up… she had to wake up. With a callused hand the hunter reached out and gently tucked an unruly strand of brown behind the sailor's ear, brushing her brow as he did.

A flicker of lids, and a hand shot up. Small and stained with her own blood and that of the dead, clamping down on his arm. Holding it firmly in front of her face.

"Ace?" Soft blue eyes met blue as the hunter jumped with the sound of her rasp.

"Lee," he responded, voice softened with the smile that tugged at his lips. He brought the hand he had extended to rest in her hair. Cradling her face as she gripped his arm. _Thank god._

With a thump Glenn dropped to his knees at Daryl's side, a smile stretched wide across his face as he beamed down at the sailor. Echoing the hunter's thought he exclaimed, "Thank fucking god," as he took Quinn's free hand, giving it a relieved squeeze.

The trio stared at one another in silence for a moment, ignorant to the babble of the other survivors above them as they basked in their reunion. The world was shit, but they were together again. Alive and braced for the next hit.

When Rick crouched down to join them, the hunter and Glenn gently pulled Quinn into a sitting position. Wary of her side as they watched her nose wrinkle in pain with the move. But, in a characteristic show of will power she was able to hold herself in a sitting position on her own, settling into a cross-legged knot with a hand on her side.

The sailor's quiet grunt of discomfort drew the attention of the room as Rick asked the question that had been on all of their minds since they had first seen her fly over the highway barrier the day before. "What happen?"

A tired chuckle bubbled from the sailor's chest while she peered up at the gathering around her, moving from face to face. Reading expressions, she murmured, "Another fucking shit-show," in her hoarse voice.

She paused, dark brows furrowed as her gaze hovered on Carol for a moment. Took in the unshed tears pricking her eyes and the way her hand shook as she clung to Andrea's shoulder. The sailor closed her eyes, asking a question she knew the answer to, "Where is Sophia? If you found me you should have gone right past her…"

* * *

She had sent them in the direction that she had last seen Sophia run. Shane, Rick, and a happy little Carl. So pleased with himself to be helping with the search. They would keep searching in the remaining hours of daylight as the rest trooped back to the highway, for rest and sutures.

Her side hurt, but she had endured worse. What's a stab wound to bomb shrapnel or a bullet… Mostly the crusty layer of blood that coated her body, her t-shirt bandage, and the wound was itchy and distracting. Thankfully it wasn't all her own, some was black and had the pungent reek of the dead, but her blood loss had still been significant. She could feel it in the heaviness of her legs and the droop of her eyes as she paced between the shoulders of Glenn and Daryl. Both shooting her concerned looks when she leaned into them for more then a few steps.

She had some medical thread and cleaning materials in her car, the wound should be a quick stitch. The blood loss on the other hand… _Maybe a nap._

The sailor ran a hand over her forehead, brushing back stray curls and sweat as she watched Andrea's expression darken as the blonde eyed the gun that Lori held in a thin hand. Drawing the sailor's attention away from the weakness in her body and the itch of blood. Guess it was time to get comfortable being uncomfortable… it seemed there were other issues on hand then her injury and a missing child.

The sheriff had insisted that his wife have a weapon before the group had split, and when the thin brunette had refused his own, Daryl had offered up the handgun he had found on the camper that had opted out. He had his crossbow, he didn't need it. During that exchange Quinn noted the roll of Andrea's eyes and the grumbles under her breath, but the sailor didn't understand the animosity. When she had left the highway everyone had seemed to be in good terms. _Civilians, what the fuck._

Glenn had filled her in on the argument between the stubborn blonde and Dale over Andrea's gun as they had walked at the back of the pack with the hunter. Gait slowed for the injured party of the trio. Apparently the retiree was concerned about the blonde's mental stability, which Quinn viewed as a fair argument given her recent attempt to be blown up… but the blonde had been less than accepting of the concern.

So now that Lori had been given a gun so freely, jealousy had flooded Andrea's senses. Pushing her closer and closer to an outburst with every step.

The sheriff's wife never gave her the chance. After a long moment of tense silence between them, hanging in the heavy air as unpleasant as the humidity, Lori thrust the gun at Andrea. "I'm tired of the damn looks you've been givin' me! If you want it you can have it," she exclaimed as the blonde recoiled away from her, clearly embarrassed.

A poorly stifled chuckle sounded from Quinn's shoulder at the scene, and the sailor shot out an elbow to jab her co-pilot's ribs. He stumbled a bit at the action, which only lead him to more chuckles and to a bark of laughter from the hunter at her other shoulder as the kid almost tripped over a root. _Idiots…_

The sailor shook her head, amused and content to be back between her boys as the group started forward again. Crunching leaves and talking quietly as they went, the blonde's animosity replaced with an obvious awkwardness as Quinn watched her edge as far away from Lori as she could.

A single gunshot sounded.

Quinn drew her lone knife from her back in a flash, wincing as she moved her torso. At her side, Daryl had his crossbow raised to his shoulder, ice blue eyes darting around for signs of a threat. But only that one gunshot sounded, so as they swiveled cautiously around they were met with only silence.

The hunter and the sailor exchanged a glance, both wondering if they should be running back through the woods to back up the lawmen. But then the hunter's eyes fell to her wound and he shook his head, gesturing toward the highway with his head he made his opinion clear. Quinn tightened the stained shirt around her side, nodding her acceptance as the three women ahead of them speculated wildly about the sound and Glenn tried in vain to calm them.

Apparently her co-pilot had been able to distract them from the gunshot, because as Daryl and Quinn entered the conversation Carol stated that she 'just didn't want her little girl to end up like Amy.' Tears in her eyes, at first completely ignorant to the blow she had just landed to Andrea's grieving heart.

The sailor's eyebrows shot toward her hairline as she stopped her stride, caught off guard. Luckily Daryl was able to recover faster from the statement then her, the gruff man stating, "We're gonna find that little girl; and she's gonna be just fine," as he walked toward the crying mother, gesturing the group on with his head.

Once the three women started moving again, picking their way through the foliage with heavy untrained feet, the hunter fell back to the sailor's side. Falling in step with her and Glenn and letting out a sigh of frustration as he listened to the loud steps ahead.

Quinn chuckled lightly at the sound, understanding his frustration. At this rate every animal in the forest would have heard their tramping and scattered, something she was sure the master hunter was always aware of.

"We're almost back right?" came Glenn's voice from her other shoulder, tired and hopeful just like his eyes. He had barely strayed more then a yard from her since the sailor had woken up, waiting loyally to act as a crutch whenever she needed him.

She and the hunter nodded in unison, and the sailor rasped, "Only about another football field, G." A hand held firmly to her side as she picked up her pace a bit, wary of splitting the scab. She needed to stich it soon…

A scream split the air. Followed by a hungry groan and the crunch of a body falling in the leaves.

The survivors spun, eyes wide and worried, to the sound. Quinn swore under her breath as she drew her knife again, Andrea was pinned beneath a walker. The damned thing had come out of nowhere, sure she was injured but the SEAL should have heard that thing coming or even smelled the reek of dead flesh… She desperately needed to sleep to recover her senses fully.

Just as the sailor made to run forward, the hunter at her side with his crossbow raised, a horse and rider exploded from the woods above Andrea. Wielding a baseball bat, the lady on the horse beat the walker away from the terrified blonde.

 _What the fuck._ Quinn stopped behind Daryl as he came skidding to a halt in front of the horse, both staring up at the young woman with a short brown bob as she started yelling for Lori. Both thoroughly confused. Behind them Glenn stood frozen with his mouth hanging slightly open, staring blatantly at the newcomer's pretty face.

Lori came forward immediately, stepping around Daryl with an expression full of panic. She listened intently as the stranger explained the situation before willingly climbing on the horse behind her, deaf to the sailor and hunter's protests. _What the fuck._

Carl had been shot. He was at a farmhouse a few miles off the highway, look for the mailbox that reads 'Greene.'

With that brief explanation the mystery girl rode off, taking one of their own with her. Leaving the remaining survivors in stunned silence, staring at one another as if unsure if what had just happened was real. The walker tried to stand up, groaning, it interrupted their silent conversations.

With a rush of air and thump, Daryl fell the thing with a bolt, growling, "Shut up."

 _What the fuck…_

* * *

In and out.

In and out.

Just like mending a hole… The sailor snorted to herself and shook her head, she was mending a hole.

Seated in the back of her open hatchback, Quinn carefully stitched her skin together. Brows furrowed in concentration she made tight loops, sealing the deep knife wound one pass at a time. The worst part was over now, the part where she had doused herself in water from the water truck on the highway and then followed the makeshift shower up with rubbing alcohol. Rubbing alcohol always stung, no matter how tough you were or how many times you had cleaned a wound, that shit stung in the weird sort of way that made your hair stand up and your teeth grind.

Off her feet and out of the sun, her body was beginning to feel more normal. The strength was returning to her limbs and her eyes were no longer heavy with the exhaustion of recent unconsciousness. But she was far from healed; it would be days before she had full range of motion with her side for fear of tearing the neat sticthes she was sewing.

She could see Daryl's feet through the back passenger window, hanging off the side of the roof as the hunter kept watch from atop the Subaru. They had both chosen to stay at the highway for another night before heading for the farm, just in case Sophia wandered out of those woods. Unwilling to separate, as at least one of them was needed to protect the others that had chosen to remain.

Glenn had left with T-dog; the man desperately needed medical attention for the wound on his arm he had received during the herd passing. The kid hadn't been thrilled to leave her side, but when she had asked him to go, go he did.

Before he had left she had seen him pull Daryl off to the side and mutter something, waiting for the hunter's nod before he left. She smiled at the memory, she wasn't ignorant, she knew what they were doing. Eventually they would learn it would take more then a slice to the abdomen to slow her stride. More then a bomb. More then a round.

After tying the strongest knot she could manage with the small line of thread, the sailor tugged an old black shirt out of her bag and pulled it over her head. Happy to have clean soft fabric against her skin. As the material fell into place her eyes landed on the white pattern of her snow-camo rifle, waiting patiently to be used in the back seat of the car. A reminder of the memory that always sat just out of view. _Not right now, sailor…_

Quinn blinked, rubbing her eyes with a hand finally free of blood and pushed herself out of the back of the hatchback. The hours in the day were dwindling now, the sky was full of warm colors and the windshields of the highway wreckage were shining brilliantly with the low orange light. The air was cooling, pleasant against her freshly washed skin. _Somewhat washed._

Using the tire as a step she slowly pulled herself up on top of the vehicle, careful not to ruin her newly sewn stitches. Something shot down in front of her face, distracting her from her careful process. With a smile tugging at her lips, she took the hand the hunter offered, allowing him to tow her the rest of the way until she way laying comfortably on the roof. Eyes on the warm colors gracing the sky as the sun crept lower and lower on the horizon

"You gonna tell me what happened?" the sleeveless man murmured as he settled down on his back next to her. The weight of his sharp eyes falling on her wound.

The sailor sighed, still staring at the sky as her mind wandered back to the mayhem of the night before. So much running and fighting with so little visibility, all while trying to keep a terrified little girl calm and quiet. Sophia. Poor Sophia, she had been quivering like a leaf from the moment the sailor had found her sprinting through the woods, completely lost. If it hadn't been for her loud clumsy steps, Quinn never would have found her… "The kid. She panicked when a couple attacked…" she rasped eventually, turning her head so she could meet the hunter's gaze.

His brows furrowed and confusion flashed in his eyes as she watched his mind whirl through the ice blue, "What? Sophia?" he muttered, waiting for more.

The sailor had been dragging the girl behind her, running full tilt through the dark forest back toward the highway, when their scent had been caught. Two corpses, large and growling hungry had stumbled into their path, instantly drawing a scream from Sophia. With the sound the dead had came for them, fierce with groping hands and gnashing teeth. Fast in the dark without the need for sight. Quinn had tried to out run them, pulling Sophia along as she dashed over obstacles she was blind to, but eventually they had been cornered. Eyesight failing to find an escape in the black of night. That's when the girl had panicked. That's when the girl had stolen a knife from the sailor's back and slashed wildly at the monsters. Blind to what she wailed on.

"It wasn't her fault," the sailor rasped, needing the hunter to understand, "she was scared, so fucking scared I-I could see her shaking and I couldn't see shit… and then I was bleeding…" Quinn trailed off and she watched the hunter run a hand through his disheveled hair and grunt in frustration.

His sailor had almost died because the frightened actions of one of these incompetent soft people… This is why he and his brother had always urged the freckled woman not to baby them. They needed to know how to protect themselves so that they didn't do stupid shit like this… He sighed and met the sailor's eyes again. _No. Sophia is just a child, Lee is right… it isn't her fault._

 _She's just a child._

"Well...When we find 'er we're gonna teach 'er some shit about weapons…'Cause fuck if this is ever happenin' again," Daryl growled, offering his forearm to Quinn and smiling slightly as she bumped her own against it.

They lay in silence until there was only a single sliver of pink lining the horizon, the last taste of another unforgiving day. Shoulder to shoulder, reveling in each other's presence after the scare of the past events. Because like Daryl growled from time to time: they were gonna live through this, they still had shit to do.

Merle was still out there somewhere waiting for them to find him.

And now so was that little girl.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

"Got bit. Fever hit. World gone to shit. Might as well quit."

This shit was why he had intended to make this excursion alone. The blonde bitch was going to make him waste an arrow to kill this fucking meat piñata; the hunter could feel it even before the question fell from her lips. He glared up at the groaning corpse swinging slightly from the noose that had started its second life, lips drawn in a frown as Andrea made a noise of disgust. The women of the little group were so predictably softhearted, all tears and whimpers.

Well not all of them… _She doesn't count. She'll never count._

He hadn't been able to sleep. Not even for a moment in that crowded RV, not with the insistent weeping of Carol in the back bed and the clanks of Andrea's nervous tinkering with his handgun. The noises had had his nerves on end, trapping him somewhere between annoyance and empathy. The hunter should have declined the offer to sleep inside the vehicle, should have realized that the comfort of a cushion to sleep on could be easily outweighed by the obnoxiousness of people.

He should have stayed on top of that damned Subaru, then at least in his restlessness he'd have been keeping watch over the sleeping form of the sailor tucked away inside. But he had not; the pull of the cushions had been too strong. Although not strong enough to keep him in the RV, he had risen at some point when the moon was high and the sky dark, determined to escape the weeping and the claustrophobia. If he could find that little girl before the sun rose, maybe he could stop those tears… maybe he could get some sleep.

The blonde had followed him as he had crept out of the RV, bringing his partially assembled gun and insisting that she wanted to help. The hunter had almost scoffed at the statement. Help? How the fuck was she going to help? As far as Daryl knew the woman was still borderline suicidal, not exactly the type of help he wanted backing him up… But he hadn't objected, after the bickering between the blonde and Lori Grimes the day before he wasn't really eager to deal with another outburst. So he had beckoned her along with a jerk of his head and the two had set out to search for Sophia.

They had paced by the Subaru on their way into the forest, Andrea staying as close to his elbow as she could as they walked. Weaponless and fairly useless in his opinion. The vehicle had been dark, its windows too tinted for him to catch a glimpse of the sleeping SEAL inside. Likely curled in a tight ball cradling her injured side, dark hair pooling around her head like a halo… He had had to force himself not to wake her; knuckles extended toward one of the windows, intent on knocking, before he had caught himself. She needed to sleep. Needed to heal. That was more important then the comfort of having her at his shoulder.

The hanged corpse let out another gurgling growl, muffled by the pressure of rope around its neck. Drawing another squeamish complaint from his blonde companion.

The hunter brought his crossbow up to his shoulder, mind whirling through parts of a drunken conversation he could barely remember, setting the swinging body in his sites. _I used to think it was cowardly…_ "Tell you what, I'll shoot the fucker. But you gotta answer me one question," he growled, eyes shifting to Andrea's face as he kept his weapon trained on the dead man. She shrugged, and he fired a bolt.

With a thump the bolt split through the thing's skull, silencing its groans as Daryl asked, "Do ya want to live?" Weapon dropping to his side, he turned to examine the woman as she pondered his question.

Andrea hesitated before responding, eyes scanning the trees around them as if she would find the answer in the leaves. Avoiding the sharp unwavering gaze of the hunter. It was dark; even more so then it had been on the highway, with shadows stretching from the foliage and obscuring each of the survivors' expressions. With an exasperated sigh the blonde finally turned to him, frustration evident in her voice.

"I don't know… I don't know if I want to live, have to live… or if its just habit."

A snort burst from the hunter before he could stop it, and he muttered, "Fuckin' waste of an arrow," as he glanced back up at his bolt lodged in the corpse's skull. Unsatisfied with her answer.

A few days ago, with fear stabbing uncomfortably at his chest, he had watched Quinn run back toward a CDC-sized bomb to save this woman, and now she didn't even know if she wanted to live or not? _What the fuck._ Seemed disrespectful to be so careless. Daryl tore his eyes away from the bolt and shook his head; she'll realize she wants to live eventually… Hopefully before the sailor decides to save her from doing something idiotic again. _Lee and her fuckin' hero complex._

He weaved his way back toward the highway with Andrea close at his heels, both realizing more searching would do them no good in the dark. They were risking ruining a good trail by stumbling blindly around in the shadows. Carol would have to wait a few more hours for her little girl.

"Do you think Quinn will be okay?" came the blonde woman's voice. Breaking through the heavy silence after a few minutes of creeping along in the dark trees. Worry was evident in her tone and the furrow of her brows, maybe she too had thought about the sailor when she had answered his question so vaguely…

He didn't answer right away, but as the hunter padded along through the fallen leaves of the thinning trees that signaled the edge of the forest, a flash of green caught his eye. A small pinpoint of light, bright and perfectly circular, sat in the middle of his chest. Hovering there for a second, before jerking to his companion's forehead, causing a smirk to pull at his lips.

"Yeah, I think she's gonna be jus' fine," he finally replied. He could see the light's origin as he and the blonde climbed over the highway barrier, a tiny speck of green that seemed to float in the air near where he could make out the RV. A laser-scope perched on a near-invisible black vehicle.

The blonde nodded, assured by his confidence although ignorant to the point that bounced from her forehead to settle on the hunter's broad chest again. She opened her mouth, about to respond, but a strangled sob drew both of the searchers' attention.

Carol descended from the top of the RV in a flourish, avoiding both of their gazes as she rushed back inside with watering eyes. Hope shattered yet again by their empty-handed return. Andrea darted after her, concern etched in her frown, rushing right by the form of another companion as she made for the camper.

As the muffled sounds of an argument floated out into the cool night air from the RV, between Andrea and Dale if his ears served him, the hunter watched the green light disappear from the top of the Subaru and the dot vanish from his chest. The laser scope turned off and the rifle was set-aside for a moment as a figure sat up on top of the vehicle.

"Yer supposed ta be sleepin'," Daryl called as he approached.

A freckled finger raised in response, drawing a bark of laughter from the gruff man as he easily scaled the black vehicle to fall in place next to the sailor. His sharp eyes darted first to her side, where he knew under the black shirt sat freshly wound bandages and still-stiff stitches, before roaming up to her face to look for signs of pain.

He barely caught the flinch of her nose as she reclined onto her back, both settling into the positions they had filled as the sun had set. She glanced away from him to peer up at the scattering of stars, the lower half of her face covered by a familiar blue scarf, obscuring her features and preventing him from judging her discomfort level any further. "No luck then?" she rasped.

He sighed quietly and shook his head, allowing his gaze to join hers on the sky. _No luck._

* * *

Green fields of gently swaying grass.

Cows grazing as they meandered slowly through a lush pasture bordered with long lines of rural wooden fencing. A barn, a stable, and a large white house.

All untouched by the turn of the world. Perfectly picturesque.

At least at first glance.

Higher and higher they piled the rocks. Gently stacking one at a time, some silent in respect others in remorse. Creating a makeshift tombstone, a memorial site. It was the best they could do without a body.

The survivors hadn't known him. Even Rick and Shane, who had briefly interacted with the man, hadn't known him. They hadn't known him and they didn't know this family. All dressed in black, with tears falling or waiting at the brim. His family. But still they stacked, rock after rock, because they were all too familiar with the sharp sting of loss. Of coming to terms with a bodiless grave.

They had all lost someone.

The head of the farmhouse, Hershel, asked that Shane give the eulogy. The deputy had been the last person to see Otis alive, and his now widow deserved to hear what had happened in deceased's final moments. He was hesitant at first, but tearful pleas drew the story from him.

As the lawman spoke, a shoulder leaned into the sailor's own as she stood toward the back of the crowd with eyes locked on the pile of stone.

Glenn didn't speak; he just kept some of his weight leaning on her. Allowing her to share the weight of death that pressed down on him once again. There had already been so much death... and She was an ever-loyal crutch whom would never think him weak.

The tale neared its end; Shane spinning how the dead man's self sacrifice had saved his life, and Quinn finally tore her eyes away from the grave and her mind from her memories of like times. Skimming the gathering of somber faces, she settled on those unfamiliar. The family whose land they were now occupying. A fact that the white haired man, Hershel, seemed less then eager about.

Hershel, his daughters Beth and Maggie—Maggie with her short brown bob the sailor recognized as the rider that had retrieved Lori the previous day—the dead man's widow Patricia, and a teenage boy named Jimmy. Beth's boyfriend if she was any judge of body language. Although she hadn't been introduced to any of them formally, she noted they all looked gentle, soft for people who had survived this long since the turn. Perhaps the devastation hadn't reached them in full on this swatch of perfect land, Quinn wondered as she briefly studied the face of the pale blonde Beth. This girl hasn't killed.

Maybe none of them have.

Work boots fidgeting in the dirt at her back drew Quinn's attention as the farm residents approached the grave to say their final thoughts. She found sharp blue eyes boring into her own as she turned, the observations she had just made about these new people reflecting in the hunter's gaze. He jerked his head and took a step back, gesturing her toward their vehicles parked near the large white house. The sailor nodded, a smile ghosting her face as the hunter pointed for her to bring the kid leaning against her as well.

Ruffling Glenn's hair, she murmured, "Let's give them a moment alone, eh?" before pacing off after Daryl.

The kid hummed his agreement, jogging a bit to fall in step with her.

The trio gathered by the Subaru, heads together as the hunter talked them through his plan for the day. Someone had to get out there searching for that little girl; they had already wasted too much daylight.

"Yer stayin' put today, Lee," the man growled as Quinn opened her mouth to offer to go along. His sharp eyes falling pointedly to her side, he continued, "Give it one more day, I don't wanna have ta carry yer ass out if ya pass out or some shit," a smirk plain on his scruffy face as the sailor flipped him off.

Despite her gesture she didn't argue, the SEAL knew he was right to a degree. She'd let him go alone one more time. But only one more, which she think he understood as his sharp eyes studied her face for a moment. _Don't do anything too fucking risky 'til I can watch your back._

The hunter turned to Glenn next, dropping a large dirty hand on the kid's shoulder he rumbled, "And you…I'd bet my ass these fuckers are gonna send you on a supply run…so don't be fuckin' stupid, irright?" He waited for the young Korean to nod.

Quinn smiled as the hunter sighed, the gruff man now seemed satisfied that he had effectively warned his friends not to be idiots and fell silent, his gaze shifting back to her to take over the lead. She opened her mouth, about to comment about the strangeness of the near-perfect farm, to warn her boys to be wary, when the voices of the two lawmen sounded from behind their huddle, accompanied by their heavy footsteps.

They brought with them a map of the surrounding land.

It seemed she wouldn't be the only one forced to stay on the farm. Hershel had ordered Rick, who had recently given multiple liters of blood to his son, and Shane, who had injured his ankle in his escape from the medical-supply run that had killed Otis, to stay put. Daryl would be the only searcher that day, a fact that made her uncomfortable even though the hunter himself had predicted it. Everything in her instincts and training urged her not to let her man leave without back up.

The hunter was loading bolts into the quiver on his crossbow, leaning against her hatchback as he did with a scowl set in his brows. Quinn had overheard the sheriff telling him that he didn't need to head into the forest alone, that Daryl 'didn't owe them anything.' As if he was just some heartless redneck… The frustration had been palpable in the air as Rick had left and she had approached, all though the lawman had seemed ignorant.

The sailor pushed herself off of her perch on the hood of the Subaru as the hunter looked up, scanning the trees, seemingly ready to depart, and paced over to his shoulder. Casting her gaze out on the surrounding forest to match his.

"Be careful, " she rasped, extending a forearm out to him.

He grunted and bumped his arm against hers. Heading toward the tree line with silent steps, back straight and head tall.

The sailor cracked her neck and forced her eyes away from the retreating figure. She turned and leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her car, clawing her way out of feelings of incompetence with a deep breath. _One more day. You'll be fine in one more day._

Through the dark tint she could make out the white patterned body of her smaller rifle, and below it the large case that held her .50 cal weapon. Both safely locked away from her companions that had been attempting to gather everyone's weapons. By order of the landowner. Brows knitting together she counted the boxes of rounds she could see lining the floor in front of the passenger seats, knowing that she had been right in her assessment of these new people. They hadn't had to kill yet. They didn't know how crucial it was to always be armed.

She brought a hand up to the handle of the lone knife that sat at her back, mind whirring back to thoughts of that night in the woods. The girl had a chance; she had a knife and people looking for her. A master tracker looking for her. There was hope. But if Quinn had just had one of her firearms, that girl would be with them right now.

With a flick of long brown hair the sailor pushed herself away from the window, she needed to find Glenn before he went off on a run with the farm girl. Another thing the hunter had been right about. They were going by horseback and Quinn was fairly sure that her city-boy copilot had never ridden a horse. She made to stride toward where she could see him and the thin brunette form of Lori talking in the distance, about something sensitive going off the nervous fidgeting of the woman, but as her first step fell a strange smell hit her nose.

She had been carefully trained to use all of her senses, to value them all because where one would fail you another would not. A SEAL was not going to die because of an invisible gas if it had a scent, or from a scentless poison if it had a taste, and you could often here someone in the dark before you could see them. They were the best of the best.

Death. The rot of human flesh, that was the scent.

Strong on the slight breeze that blew toward her from the forest and the barn. It had become such a common part of her life—of all their lives—that she understood why no one else seemed stopped in their tracks searching for a smell. Everyone was dead now, wouldn't everything smell of death? Or perhaps the wind was just blowing precisely perfect for her to catch it and no one else, as most her companions were gathered setting up their new campsite and most of the family had retreated inside the house. The sailor paced toward the barn, noting how the scent seemed to waft from the large wooden structure. Increasingly pungent as she neared.

It was larger then she had anticipated, towering well above the height of a house, with aging brown walls and a large set of wooden double doors. Double doors that were chained and locked shut with heavy links… _not suspicious at all._ The sailor crept closer, squinting to peer between the small space between the doors.

Eyebrows shooting toward her hairline, the sailor jumped back from the door. One of her freckled hands drawing her single combat knife and bringing it in front of her face in a fluid sweep. _What the fuck is this._

"Glenn!"

Black boots spun in the dirt in front of the door of the locked barn, the enclosed danger forgotten as Quinn broke into a sprint at the sound of that name. Screamed at the top of a panicked voice.

Scared yells called from the field where the sailor's companions had been struggling to get water from a well. Calling the young Korean's name again and again and pushing the freckled woman's pace as she dashed across the grassy field toward the gathering of her companions.

Hands planting on a short wooden fence as she hurdled it, she heard Glenn's voice rise above the clamor. Oddly echoing as he cried, "Pull me up! Get me the fuck outta here!" as if he were in a hole. The survivors were lined up in front of her, all tugging ferociously on a rope that lead to the well's opening.

He was in a fucking hole. _Why the fuck was he in a hole._

Her feet hit soft dirt as she landed, the jolt of impact sending a stab of pain through her stitched side. This is why Daryl wanted her to stay at the farm for the day, so she didn't do anything overly strenuous. _Oh well._ She sped across the dirt, reaching her companions just as Glenn was pulled out of the pit.

The sailor came skidding to a stop at the side of the well opening, eyes snapping to the white face of her obviously shaken copilot before glancing down into the hole. There was a corpse; bloated and disfigured by the water it must have been trapped in for weeks, growling up at her from the darkness. Grotesque arms extended and teeth gnashing. Glenn had been down in a pit, alone, with that thing. These people had willingly lowered him into it. _These civilians will be the death of me._ Her gaze shot to the faces of those holding the rope, anger mounting with every second.

They lay on their backs, having had to use their full strength to get the kid out and then collapsed when the tension was released, their eyes all on the sailor's growing scowl. Unspeaking.

"What the fuck are you doing?" She rasped, gaze settling on Glenn once again as she shot out a freckled had to help him up.

He took it, allowing her to haul him to his feet and lead him a few steps away from the well opening. He brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck as he met her eyes with an innocent stare, "We have ta get it out of there, Q," he stated with a gesture to the hole. There were nods from the others at his words, and a scoff from a displeased looking Maggie.

Quinn glanced at the girl, seeing what the plan had been shining in her disapproving stare. The sailor shook her head and walked back toward the hole, ruffling Glenn's hair fondly as she went so the kid knew she wasn't mad at him.

"Next time you're trying to think of something to use as live bait, look around and pick something that's not human." The sailor growled, turning to face those who had been on the rope and pointing at a field of cattle, "You're on a fucking farm!"

Quinn sighed when no one replied and continued, "cause if you kill someone doing something this stupid, I might push you in the fucking hole after." The soft warning in her tone caused both Andrea and Lori to flinch as the sailor's eyes passed over them. Maggie made a sound of approval at her words.

"Now, since our boy here succeeded in his mission of idiocy, lets pull the fucker out." The sailor called, glancing into the hole at the length of rope wrapped neatly around the bloated monster.

It was like a game of tug-of-war with an opponent whose strength never faltered.

The thing must have absorbed gallons and gallons of water with the weight it was carrying, the entire little group had to pull with full force to lift the fat thing out. Sweating and cursing they heaved, feeling the load lighten as half of the monster was lofted out of the well with its dead arms clawing at them. But only half, it seemed in another streak of notoriously bad luck that the corpse was stuck somewhere on the edge of the well. _Typical._

"Just fucking pull! It'll come!" Shane exclaimed as he dug his feet into the soft dirt and heaved, the others following his example.

The load lifted and the group collapsed, falling away from the hole as the corpse split grotesquely in half, its lower body falling back into the well with a sickening rain of splashes.

"No!" T-dog yelled, standing and running to the edge to glare down at the now thoroughly contaminated water. He let out a grunt of frustration and slammed the head of an axe down on the bloated and still growling head of the half-corpse. Pounding the weapon down again and again until all that remained was a large splatter of black blood in the dirt.

"Good thing we didn't do anything stupid, like shoot it," the large man mumbled as he walked away, dropping the axe.

Quinn snorted at the man's words, bouncing up from her place behind Shane on the rope, she turned to pull up Glenn from behind her. The scene T had created was an oddly familiar one, and as she tugged the young Korean toward the two horses and a waiting Maggie, the sailor had to force the image of a grief-stricken Carol destroying the visage of her husband. She pushed the kid toward the pretty farm girl, but not before rasping, "If you're not back tonight, I'll come get you," and pulling him into a quick hug.

Glenn nodded and flicked her ponytail affectionately before he jogged toward the waiting girl, a blush tingeing his ears as he approached her. He clearly had a crush on the farmer's daughter, the sailor noted with a smile splitting her freckled face.

With a freckled hand shading her eyes, Quinn traced the pair as they rode off down the road, waiting until they were fully out of eyesight before dropping her watch. Now both of her boys were out there in the real, dangerous world, and she was stuck in the picturesque dream of a farmer that may tread the border of insanity. _Just for today._

The farmer.

As the riders disappeared from view the sailor spun to face the large white house, looking for the old man that had been hovering on the deck since the makeshift funeral. She had a few questions for the man, a few propositions.

He was leaning against the fine wooden banister of his deck, smiling fondly out at where the teenage boy and girl, Jimmy and Beth if she wasn't mistaken, were feeding a large pen of chickens. The couple laughing together as they threw seed to the happily clucking creatures.

With long strides the sailor made quick work of the distance between herself and the house, padding over the drive and climbing the stairs of the deck with soft quiet steps, until she stood before the white-haired man. He turned to her; slightly surprised by the sudden appearance of someone he hadn't heard approach.

"Don't believe we've been introduced, Hershel Greene," the farmer stated, offering her a hand and fairly sincere smile as he turned to face her.

Quinn took the hand, shaking it firmly with a smile to match his as she rasped, "Names Quinn, or Lieutenant Commander Lee if you please," with a little chuckle as she watched his smile grow with the mention of her title. He seemed like the type. A veteran or the son of one.

The sailor paused for a second, examining the farmer's face with soft blue eyes.

A kind face, and honest eyes rivaling those of her sheriff. He looked like he was waiting. That he knew she had a question she was near bursting to ask with that slight smile on his aged face, he even nodded as if to encourage her.

With a sigh the sailor gestured her head for them to move down the porch, away from any unwanted ears, as she murmured, "I need you to tell me about the barn," with a glance to the offending building. Looming in the distant field.

Continuing, "I need you to trust me, sir."

* * *

Thanks for reading!

The early barn discovery is crucial to something else, so stay with me here. The sailor is about to have a lot of stress put on her shoulders, and her tolerance for her group's bickering and such that is inevitable at the farm is going to start shrinking.

Also Beth is great so expect some Beth interaction.

Best,

GC


	21. Chapter 21

Sorry this update took like 9 years... had some computadora issues, pretty major ones. Anyway, I should be quicker now...

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

The clopping of hooves in loose gravel has a very distinct sound.

Skipping stairs to descend from the porch the sailor loped toward the approaching horses on long legs. They were back. Glenn was back.

The sun had fallen in the sky, approaching its set with the tease of pink now tingeing the cloudless blue. They had been gone longer than she had anticipated, at least two hours longer if she had judged the distance correctly on the map. Which of course, she had. Maybe they had run into trouble, a few wandering corpses or some other obstacle. Although as she lifted a hand to shield her eyes to get a better look, neither rider appeared to be bloodied, just a little sweaty. Reddened faces. _Oh…_ Quinn let out a snort, having an inkling as to why they had been delayed.

Footsteps on wood behind her alerted Quinn that Hershel had followed her out of the house, the white-haired man keen to see his daughter. Probably wanted to discuss his recent conversation with the sailor with his oldest child, Quinn thought as her boots hit grass as she neared where her co-pilot was dismounting. He turned to her, sweaty, and reddened, with his brown eyes darting away from her own in embarrassment when he caught the smile spreading across her freckled face.

The sailor chuckled and punched the kid in the shoulder, rasping, "Have a nice ride, Romeo?" once Maggie had strode a safe distance away, following her father back into the house.

Glenn sighed, flipping off his hat to run a hand through his hair, he gestured Quinn toward the survivors' makeshift camp with the cap. "It was a quick in and o—wait! No that wasn't…" he stuttered when he saw the cock of her eye brow at his choice of words, drawing a snort from his SEAL friend before he continued, "The town was pretty empty, we went to a little convenience store and were able to get all the shit on the list and… yeah," he ended lamely, shooting out a fist to punch Quinn in the shoulder when her smile grew too large.

The pair wove through the parked cars and the recently set up cooking area, heading toward the RV. Glenn with an arm around his freckled friend's broad shoulders he described Maggie to her, gaze hovering dreamily on the horizon as he spoke. Quinn stayed quiet, smile still plastered to her face as she listened to her co-pilot's ramblings.

The others of their little group were gathered around the door of the RV, well all but the Grimes family and Daryl. The hunter had still not returned from his search.

They were discussing shooting lessons and how ridiculous they found the farmer's 'no gun' rule. Carol, Andrea, and Shane had only recently returned from a trip to the highway to check for Sophia. They had been unsuccessful, leaving Shane with a heavier limp then when he had left due to the exertion, and Carol with puffy red eyes as she sat on the couch inside the camper. Staring at her hands as conversation bounced around above her.

With only a few more feet of privacy as they approached their companions, Quinn quickly whispered to Glenn, a smirk plain on her face, "I'm gonna tell her you snore, G. Like a dying whale." Laughing as he let out an aghast gasp and knowing that he couldn't respond as they came to a stop between Shane and Andrea at the steps of the RV. Interrupting another argument between the blonde and the retiree that sat inside the vehicle next to an annoyed looking T-Dog.

The kid elbowed her hard in the ribs, luckily just above her still-aching stitches, but the impact still drew a slight flinch. Fortunately she was able to rearrange her face by the time any of the group glanced to her, the last thing she needed was to appear weak in front of civilians. At the sound of her name, Quinn glanced up to Dale, blue eyes settling on his wrinkled face.

"Quinn, you've been around the farmer a bit," He paused, waiting for her to give away some clue about the conversation he had seen her having with the white-haired man, and continuing when she cocked an eyebrow at him. Clearly unfazed by his strategy. "Do you think he could be convinced to let us carry arms?" he asked, eyes darting between Andrea and Shane as if to clarify who the question was really coming from.

The sailor sighed, leaning slightly into the kid whose arm was still slung about her as her eyes floated from the retiree to the pile of guns resting on the RV table. An array of police rifles, handguns, and shotguns. She knew that some of her companions were going to butt heads with their new hosts, it was almost inevitable. But the first night? At this rate Hershel would try to throw them off his land the next day… not that she was any more willing to give up her firearms then the rest of them, hell the SEAL was fully against it. For her to be unarmed in times like this was foolish, irresponsible, and the farmer knew that now. He had made an agreement with her. But that was the issue, only her.

"I think it will take time, and that for now we need to respect his wishes." Quinn rasped, eyes flicking to each of her companion's faces. Continuing, "He's agreed to let Dale keep watch, correct? That's a good first step. That's what we need, step after step until he understands."

Dale nodded with her words, clearly satisfied, where as Andrea let out a defeated rush of air. She would not argue with the SEAL like she had argued with the retiree, but her beliefs were clearly counter. The blonde changed the subject to shooting lessons, inquiring if Quinn would help Shane teach those who wanted to learn in the next few days. She was tired of having men lording their abilities over her, and the SEAL seemed like the best alternative teacher.

They moved away from the RV, Andrea, Shane, Glenn, T, and the sailor, to continue the discussion of potential shooting lessons and search plans for the following day. Respectfully away from the broken from of Carol, who could not bear company for the moment. Another day with no news about her daughter. Only Dale dared stay near, climbing on top of his vehicle to take up watch.

They gathered around the cooking supplies, dropping down on logs and camp chairs in a semi-circle, voices quiet, as they could hear the distraught mother's sobs from within the camper. But she wanted to be alone. She would swat them away if they tried to comfort her. She needed to be alone, although the sound tore at their hearts.

Quinn couldn't keep her eyes from darting to the large vehicle every few seconds, pondering if the woman truly wanted to be alone or if she should try and help…the sailor couldn't decide. Andrea had convinced her to help with firearm lessons, but only after a full day's search, and only if the others also searched. They were not here to learn about weapons, they were here to heal one child and find the other. The sailor flicked her long ponytail over her shoulder, eyes settling on the camp stove that T had just fired up; they seemed to have terrible luck with the children in their care. She needed to fix that.

Footsteps shuffled through the grass behind her, coming from the house.

Tilting her head back, the sailor watched Lori approach, the thin brunette looking agitated as she headed straight for Glenn. Quinn cocked an eyebrow as Lori practically dragged her copilot away from their gathering, starting to rise from her chair until Glenn shook his head as discretely as he could. _What the fuck._ None of the others seemed at all phased by this behavior, Andrea and Shane were deep in conversation about something, guns probably, and T was busy opening cans of beans. The sailor followed their path as the thin woman led the pair off behind the RV, where after a moment only Glenn returned, looking guilty as hell.

Eyebrow still raised Quinn stared at her young Korean friend. Waiting for an explanation and receiving nothing but a muttered, "Later, Q. Later." As the kids eyes darted between her and where he had just returned from. She tapped the front of his hat over his eyes in response, unsatisfied.

"How's your side?" he asked, changing the subject. His brown eyes floating to where he knew a neat line of stiches sat on her skin. "You probably shouldn't have helped with the well thing earlier… I thought of that while I was with Maggie…"

With a quiet laugh the sailor shook her head, rasping, "That's not what you're supposed to think about when you're with a girl." Laughter growing louder when Glenn clapped a hand to his mouth, realizing how his phrasing had sounded, she continued, "My sides fine, don't worry about me." She patted where her bandages lay to emphasize her words.

She was fine. She had to be fine.

Quinn had wandered over to her vehicle, searching through the clothing in her military pack for her favorite blue scarf, while Glenn stretched out across the Subaru's hood, when she heard familiar muffled footsteps. The near-silent ones she'd been waiting to hear since he had left that morning, coming back into camp as the sun slipped behind the horizon in an array of orange and red. _How fittingly dramatic._

The hunter headed straight for the RV, sharp eyes focused on the shorthaired woman that puttered around on the inside, cleaning incessantly. He held a beer bottle at his side, nearly hidden behind the girth of his forearm, as was likely his aim. In the beer bottle was a single white flower.

Quinn forced her eyes away as her hands felt the familiar woven pattern of her scarf, she tugged the dark material out of her bag and quickly wrapped it around her neck, mind whirling to place that white flower. Large petals, small leaves…there was a story behind those, she knew it. Adjusting the patterned wool, Quinn swore in her head. Her grandparents would be so disappointed that she couldn't recall it. Something about the Cherokee tribe if she wasn't mistaken. _Wasted education, Quinn._

"How are you cold?" came Glenn's voice as he pushed himself off of her hood with a little grunt. Brown eyes on the fabric circling her neck as he gestured with an arm for them to head over to where T-Dog had finished his dinner concoction.

With a shrug the sailor rasped, "Habit." Eyes drifting to the back window of the RV as they strode by, finding Daryl standing before Carol with that flower in his hand on the inside, nearly hidden by the walls of the vehicle. As if he could feel her watching, sharp blue eyes met her own for a second through the glass. Only for a second, before both glanced away. Both sets of eyebrows furrowing. _What is that damned legend…_

"Quinn, can you come here for a second?" came a voice from her side, from the side of the farmhouse.

The sailor pushed Glenn ahead of her with reassurance she would join him soon before spinning to to the sheriff. Meeting his honest eyes as she strode toward him, away from food and away from her ponderings of a flower. Following him as he jerked his head toward the deck.

The two leaned against the wooden rail, eyes on the gathering of their companions. After a moment of silence, the sailor rasped, "You've talked to him about staying, haven't you." Dark brows drawing together as she anticipated his answer, gaze tracking Lori Grimes who had just strode in from a distant field to join the gathering. _Odd._

Rick nodded and sighed, hanging his head to stare at his hands as he gripped the polished wood, "He's not keen on it, but I think I can convince him," the lean man replied. "He'll at least let us stay until Carl is healed and we find Sophia."

Dropping a freckled hand on the man's shoulder, Quinn gave it a little squeeze. Rick was pale, gaunt, still unrecovered from the copious amounts of blood he had given to his son, and now the stress of leadership was beating him down. Mercilessly. "Let me help. I'll talk to him tomorrow after the search, this doesn't have to be on you," she rasped, squeezing his shoulder gently again.

He nodded again, thanks in his eyes and brought an arm up to clasp her shoulder as well. They stood there for a long while, watching their friends chatter as they sat in a circle around a small fire, the sailor and the sheriff sharing the weight of responsibility. The bridge between those inside the house and those on the lawn. "We can't leave here, Quinn. It's safe," Rick whispered eventually, his honest eyes settling on the dark hair of his wife.

"I know, I know," the sailor replied quietly, gesturing him towards the others with the tilt of her head. They descended the stairs and padded across the gravel and grass together, stride matched and heads together as they muttered strategies for the next day back and forth. Their priority still needed to be finding Sophia, after the search they would try to convince their host. Only then. No matter the resistance they knew they would find in the other, larger lawman.

As she plopped down on a log between the hunter and the delivery boy who was shamelessly shoveling beans into his mouth, a bowl of food was thrust in front of her nose. The hand that held it was large and dirty and the arm attached bare. Blue eyes met blue, one of her dark brows cocking questioningly as they did. _Tell me about the flower._ The hunter shook his head slightly at the expression, muttering, "Later," in his quietest growl. Glancing around the group he clarified what he meant: _not in front of others._

Quinn nodded and began spooning food into her mouth, unaware of how hungry she had been until that moment. At her side Daryl leaned a bit closer to her and talked her through his search that day, raising his eyebrow as a hint whenever he got to a part he didn't feel like sharing until they were alone. He had found a house, abandoned other then a lone corpse trapped in an upstairs bedroom, and in a cupboard he had found what looked like a sleeping area for a very small person…

They would need to thoroughly search that area the next day, the odds of the traces of a child being from anyone but Sophia seemed very unlikely. Quinn fished her map out of her vehicle as her companions filed away from the little dinner gathering, heading to bed. Stretching the crinkled paper across the hood of the Subaru, she had the hunter circle where he had found the house with a pen. It wasn't far from the church where she had last seen the little girl, where she had been certain she would die…

The pair stared at the map, leaning into each other's shoulders as they bent over it, each silently planning tactical routes around the circled point. Occasionally jabbing one another in the ribs with an elbow to talk the other through an idea, until eventually Daryl ice blue eyes flicked to her face, and the gruff man muttered, "It was a Cherokee Rose." His rough voice quiet, almost embarrassed.

The relief was evident in his face when the sailor nodded; he wouldn't have to explain himself. The SEAL knew the legend. That's all she had needed, the name of the thing. _A mother's tears…_ Quinn smiled slightly and dropped a hand onto the shoulder of the sleeveless man at her side, rasping, "You did a good thing," a flower had grown for that little girl.

The hunter shook his head and shoved her gently, the corner of his lips pulling upward as he strode away toward his tent, murmuring, "G'night, Lee."

The air was cool now that the sun had dropped, and the sky dark with no signs of the brilliant blue skies that had graced their first day at the farm. The survivors were shuffling around in their tents and within the RV, readying themselves for bed and enjoying the relative solitude that was so hard to find in this new world. Only one stayed out on the grass, a dark blue scarf pulled high over her face to cover her nose.

Snapping open a long black case from inside the Subaru and gently lifting out a long lethal weapon, the sailor's eyes darted to the hunter's nearby tent. Wondering if he was awake, and wishing she had told him about her conversation with the farmer while she had had the chance, just in case she needed backup. Although she shouldn't, it was comforting to have the younger Dixon at her back. She wanted no secrets from him. From either of her boys.

The sailor was in for a long night.

* * *

She had always had an affinity for rooftops.

They were tactically advantageous. Above the noise of people milling around, and below the endless expanses of sky. Crucial for good sniping vantage points, while also hidden in plain sight. Unless someone glanced up, which no one ever seemed to…a flaw of the civilian population.

The sailor shifted slightly, adjusting her cross hairs to again rest on the door of the old wooden barn.

She had once been stationed on a rooftop for 9 days, monitoring some clueless target in some crowded city. Orders placing her directly across the street from the target's house on a regular building without much cover to hide behind. It hadn't seemed like the best idea. But orders are orders and a SEAL always trusted their CO.

Nine days. Nine days of a scope to her eye and her rifle to her shoulder until she had finally had the perfect shot. Nine days without a single person looking up. Not even when the body had fallen to the ground, blood seeping from a bullet wound that no one had heard fire.

Her CO had praised her patience after that mission, one of her first, and explained in his signature growl: _They never look up. They'll never look up. Civilians live in one plane, Lee. We live in all of 'em._

How true that still proved to be.

The rooftop she currently occupied had a certain charm to it, much like the house it sat neatly above. Large, with three tall brick chimneys and a variety of gently sloping peaks all covered in orderly green shingles. Fitting for the Greene family farm. The sailor had wedged herself against one of the chimneys; stretched out flat on her stomach with an eye to the scope of her .50 caliber rifle she faced the old wooden barn. Above the heads of her companions, all seemingly asleep in their newly set up camp site, and under the glow of the moon hanging in the clear dark air.

The doors of the barn rattled occasionally, pushing outward slightly against the heavy chain whenever some creature of the night made too loud a call. But nothing too concerning. Nothing that raised her alarm enough to do anything but watch. Guard. With steady hands and sharp eyes. There was no need to betray the farmer's trust and tell her comrades when she could keep her eye to a scope through the night. The secret could rest with her for now.

No matter how foolish a secret.

He had been confrontational at first.

The sincere smile and the kindness in his wrinkled face evaporating with her questions, the white haired-man had folded back into his shell under the scrutiny of a stranger. It was none of her business what was in his barn. This was his land; he didn't need to explain himself. What right did she have when his family had already done so much for her little group? He ought to throw them off his property right then.

The sailor had been fearful as he muttered these things to her that she had made the wrong call. Her brows furrowing more and more with each quiet threat. Little Carl still desperately needed medical attention, and they were all weary to the bone. Hell she had just been stabbed; the stitches were still stiff and bothersome beneath her shirt. She could have just kept her mouth shut and kept watch on the damn barn, she didn't need to know the farmer's reasoning. What reasoning could one possibly have for this? But eventually, after a few moments of venting, he had calmed down and looked her in the eye. Assessing, as if her trustworthiness could be measured by the clarity of her gaze.

It wasn't until his stare had fallen to the silver cord that hung around her neck, her dog tag, that he had sighed in defeat and nodded. This wasn't a hotheaded man wanting to take over his land, demanding and demeaning. This was the calm face and the broad shoulders of a Naval Officer. He would tell her.

They had moved their conversation to his office, padding quickly through the house past the room that held a sleeping Carl and his two worried parents, away from potential eavesdroppers of both groups. Locking the door and moving to stand beside her, Hershel had handed the sailor a framed photo. His eyes had on the RV outside the little window as she peered down at it, watching strangers stride across his yard. A photo of his family, well loved and well protected going off the weight of the frame; she had immediately recognized the smiling faces of his two daughters.

The other two in the frame-the boy and the woman-Hershel had explained, they were in the barn. They were sick. His wife and his stepson were sick, just like the rest of the people locked inside. If he just kept them safe, safe and locked away for long enough...a cure would be made. Just like every other disease. He was a doctor; he had seen this happen time and time again. Panic for nothing.

Quinn had seen the belief in his eyes as he had turned from the window to speak; in the way he had held his shoulders back as he had explained. Those people in the barn were his family, and he loved them too much to be anything but hopeful. _How dangerous hope can be._ She would not be able to change his mind, not that day. Not until he saw what they could do, what they were.

So she had chosen a different tactic. If he wouldn't let her kill them, and he didn't want her to tell her companions about the predicament, then she needed to be on watch. Every night, every hour of the night, until the corpses were dead or they were off the farm. If he let her do that, she would keep his secret.

"You have my word, sir."

With a pop the sailor adjusted her shoulder, taking her eye from her scope to peer down at the camp. Gaze floating over the gathering of tents, all as dark as the windows of the RV they were circled about. Although as a SEAL she was proud of it, her word was as good as gold, she hadn't expected the farmer to trust her so easily; the days where people trusted a stranger's word were quickly coming to an end.

Quinn took her trigger hand away from her rifle for a moment to adjust her blue scarf to sit higher on her nose, the garment protecting her against the chilling gusts of wind that had been rippling around the fields.

Movement.

The sounds of sheets rustling and footsteps from somewhere in the house beneath her.

The sailor's eyes jumped to the green shingles that covered the roof of the deck as the subtle glow of a lamp illuminated the far corner of the railed in area. Near the room where little Carl was recovering, and where his parents were sleeping fitfully at his sides.

Soft sobs floated up to her from that corner of the deck, muffled and distant, but definitely recognizable. The sailor had heard many of her group cry enough times to recognize them by their sobs. A cruel reality.

Lori Grimes, sobs occasionally interrupted by a muttered curse, stood at the corner of the deck, below the sailor's perch. The thin woman's shadow stretching out on the grass from the small lamp she carried.

It hadn't taken Quinn more then a minute to get information out of Glenn earlier that evening. He had easily folded under the weight of her raised-eyebrow stare, spilling to the sailor the secret product that Lori had asked him to fetch on his run. The delivery boy couldn't really keep a secret from anyone, much less her.

A particularly loud sob drew the sailor's eyes back to the shadow of the thin brunette from where she had settled back against her scope. She stared at the shadow as it moved with the thin woman's pacing. Rippling against the posts of the railing. Quinn shook her head and let out a quiet rush of air as she settled back down to face the barn, frustrated. This reaction could only mean one thing.

Lori was pregnant.


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

They didn't notice at first.

The way a visitor would always appear when they were summoned for a run or a mission of some sort. A kind face. Usually a woman, offering to keep Claire and the baby company while they were gone. Never leaving the mother and child alone-not even for a second-in their absence. As if the visitors were afraid she would disappear…

The way an armed man hovered outside the window of their 'apartment' at night. Every night. Pacing the distance of the windows and occasionally glancing up. Always turning innocently away when the inevitable restlessness of one of the sailors would draw them to a window in the night for a cigarette. Staring out at the strange town by the soft orange glow of a lighter, they didn't notice the dark clothed man. Or at least they didn't register the threat. The steps of a man didn't raise alarms like the shuffle of the dead. Not anymore.

They didn't notice the special attention paid to Wes. Not at first.

When he wasn't asked to accompany Merle and Leo on supply runs. Which they seemed to be needed for constantly. There were constant calls for help with tiny injuries, keeping the shaggy blonde doctor busy most every day. How many stitches could these people need in a week? How many fainting spells could there be? It seemed like the whole town was just trying to keep him occupied.

That started the first prick of suspicion in the doctor's mind.

A prick that quickly spun into full-fledged worry when the Governor began dropping in to speak with him, to reassure him of the safety of the town, with unnecessary frequency. The dark-haired leader of Woodbury had realized that with the birth of Wes's daughter, the town might lose one of their most valuable resources. A doctor.

The Governor didn't like to lose.

Not long after Wes's suspicion grew, they all started to notice. Well, not Claire and the baby, but maybe it was easier that way.

They were being watched. Every step the sailors took was followed by one of the Governor's most trusted men. Every public conversation between them was barged into as subtly as possible and stopped. On supply runs they were separated, always kept in opposite parties. The same men herded Wes to the medical building every day; they kept him busy and away from his family for as long as they could occupy him. Sending in patient after patient. Wasting medical supplies carelessly. At the apartment, one of the Governor's most trusted would keep Claire company throughout the day, the weapon hidden beneath their shirt not missed by the sailors or the doctor. The blonde woman and her baby were a ransom, keeping the men in line with a subtle threat.

That was how they had to live for now, on guard while feigning ignorance to their new captivity. The only time they all were able to be together, without interruption, was at night. But even then they were being stalked.

Merle took to watching the armed man on the street through the nights. Noting the way the patroller would stare at the window that held the sleeping blonde couple, clutching an automatic weapon with a scowl distorted by shadow. The veteran kept his handgun at his side, cigarette between his lips, daring the man to give him an excuse to bring him down as he waited by the open window.

Every night that the one-handed man sat at the window, across the room—sprawled none too gracefully—Leo would sleep on the couch. His overly large form hanging off the piece of furniture right next to the closed door that hid the sleeping blonde couple and their baby. Guarding the door so that if Merle were to call him to attention, the Samoan would be ready.

With Claire sleeping peacefully in his arms and his beautiful baby girl curled in her crib at the foot of their bed, Wes would lie awake. Blue eyes examining the ceiling. Aware of his friends' positions and their concerns, he trusted the sailors to keep his family safe long enough for him to think of an escape.

The ceiling consisted of 37 wood panels, all with varying knots and age-lines stained dark in the fashion of a past decade. None of which had yet provided him an escape plan that would get them away unharmed.

Eventually the shaggy blonde would doze off, if only for a few hours of fitful worried sleep. The last thought in his mind always the same.

 _Quinn would know. Quinn could get us out._

* * *

A cloud of dust puffed around black boots as the sailor dropped from the green-shingled roof of the deck to the ground.

Black rifle strapped across her back, she tugged at the scarf wrapped loosely about her face, eyes on the rising sun that signaled the end of her watch. The dark fabric fell from her nose to pile around her neck, the wool rough and familiar as it passed through her fingers. A reminder of years spent in snow covered mountains and ice-coated lakes. The climate she yearned for every time she watched the Georgia sun climb the horizon, promising the unforgiving heat and humidity that had plagued the survivors.

The night had been mostly uneventful. Through her scope she had watched the slight movements of the heavy chain and bolt. The door of the barn staying safely locked despite the occasional push of one of the trapped dead, without the scent of the living to frenzy them they hadn't attempted more then that. It seemed as long as no living creature strayed too near the barn, she may be able to hold the farmer's secret. Although against what she knew was better judgment. One set of eyes on the caged beast was enough for now.

Other then the crying shadow of Lori Grimes, who had only remained on the deck for a few minutes before extinguishing her lantern and retiring back to her husband's side, one other had risen during the sailor's watch.

His hulking form roaming through the tents with no set route, the deputy had wandered around in the dark until eventually the light of the moon had caught his eye. Quinn had pulled her head away from her scope to trace his movements, brows furrowed at the odd behavior. Keeping perfectly still so as not to alert him of her presence on the roof far above his head, she had watched him come it a stop in the middle of the gravel road. Facing the gate and the road to the small town behind it. The partial moon hanging unobstructed directly above, lighting the road before him.

There Shane had stayed, for an hour or maybe more. Standing with broad shoulders facing the road, one hand rubbing at a small bald patch on the back of his newly shaved head. The sailor, rifle still carefully aimed at the barn, had pondered his behavior. Soft blue eyes glancing away from her scope and peering down at him in the dark every few minutes. Her mind had spun through every possible reason she could think of as to why he had shaved his head. As to why it seemed to bother him enough to leave him this restless.

Perhaps in his run-in with the dead that had lead to the farmer's man's death something had happened. Something had made him feel so unclean that the only solution was to shave.

Quinn's mind had wandered to the feeling of black blood crusting her skin as she had examined the back of the man's shaved head. When she had had to slice her and Glenn's way to freedom all those weeks ago. Through masses of undead children. To the crust of human blood on her hands from years before, red and haunting, from a mission she wished never to repeat. The sailor knew all too well the need to wash one's self clean. Maybe that's why the deputy had cut away his hair and now seemed haunted, restless through the night.

But as the deputy had turned from the road, exhaustion finally forcing him back to his tent, the sailor had caught a glimpse of his expression. The fog in his eyes and the tremble of his jaw as he had paced nearer to her rooftop perch. Maybe it was something worse.

A yawn forced her eyes shut as the sailor stretched her long arms above her head. Shoulders popping as the rotated. It was around 5 am if her watch was still telling time correctly… She had heard Hershel stirring in his room somewhere below her rooftop vantage point before her decent. The responsibility of the barn would be passed to him now, as was their agreement. Flipping her ponytail over her shoulder the sailor gave the offending building a glance; it was quiet now, none of the slight movements against the chains that had drawn her attention the night before.

Boots padding through dewy grass and gravel in little spurts of dust and water she moved away from the deck. Her companions would be waking soon, some were likely already awake inside their tents, and she needed to nap before the search. Pacing quietly over to her Subaru, careful to be silent as she passed the hunter's still-sleeping form inside his tent, the sailor yawned again and pulled the .50 cal rifle from her back. A smile tugging slightly at her lips as her mouth closed, she glanced back at the tent for a moment, picturing the peacefully sleeping face of the younger Dixon that had once graced the floor next to her at the CDC.

Flicking open the hatchback of her vehicle she climbed inside, settling the rifle back in its case and sealing it inside with the muffled snap of the latches. Her weapons would all be locked carefully away while not on her body during the stay at this farm. She didn't want to risk the injury of others if someone was to mishandle one of her rifles, or risk losing either of them if someone was careless… The sailor would need them eventually. Eventually they would be necessity, the way they always had been on missions. Pulling the dark scarf off her neck, the sailor tossed it over the rifle case, partially obscuring it from any eyes that tried to peer through her heavily tented windows. With a contented sigh the sailor kicked off her boots and pulled the hatch closed again, sealing herself inside her faithful vehicle. Lone knife drawn and clutched in a freckled hand, the SEAL gave in to sleep. If only for a few hours.

The last thought floating in her tired brain before sleep claimed her senses, after the hauntings of memories of shrapnel pain and the bark of dogs, after the seemingly endless worries for the lost little Sophia and her handless veteran, was of Wes. Her brother was still out there somewhere. Waiting for her.

 _Let him be alive. Let me find him._

The whoosh of the hatchback opening drew the sailor back to the waking world. Just in time for her to catch the peach that was thrown at her head by a smirking Daryl Dixon.

"Asshole." She rasped, pretending to throw the fuzzy fruit back at the hunter before forcing herself to sit up and shake off the last fog of sleep. _Forgot to lock the damn Subaru._ Quinn cracked her neck and scooted to the edge of the trunk where the man was now leaning. Settling to sit cross-legged at his side, she took a bite of the peach, closing her eyes as the sweet fruit shocked her taste buds awake. "Where'd you find this?"

The hunter glanced down at her, smirk still plain on his stubbled lips, and jerked his head to the side. Gesturing to where Glenn was juggling a trio of peaches, brows furrowed in concentration, next to an entertained T-Dog. The large bald man was cooking some sort of breakfast over his camp stove and smiled and shook his head when the sailor looked his way, expressing his amusement for the ridiculous behavior at his side. _Oh Glenn._

Her sidekick also caught her eye and waved happily, forgetting his juggling until one of the peaches hit his arm; smile not deterred by the falling fruit. Sleeping in relative safety seemed to have done the kid well, he looked rejuvenated, gone was the somber faced young man that had leaned on her during the funeral the day before. The sailor returned his wave with a mock salute, a smile splitting her freckled face when the kid again dropped his fruit with a start as Maggie Greene emerged from the farmhouse. Drawing a bark of laughter from the hunter leaning at her side. Maybe it wasn't the sleep that had rejuvenated him.

"Kids a spaz," Daryl muttered, laughter in his rough voice as he caught her eye. He nudged the sailor with an elbow, making her slide over a bit in the back of the Subaru so he could drop down next to her. A snort shook both of them as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder, watching Glenn chase after Maggie with an endlessly hopeful look on his young face. They fell into a comfortable silence, content in each other's company and the entertainment of new-infatuation.

But as Quinn moved to pull on her boots, the hunter's face grew serious again, lowering his voice he murmured, "Rick 's gonna ask you ta go with 'im for the search today. Man 's drownin' in guilt an' he knows yer his best bet, so I…" he trailed off for a second, glancing up at the farmhouse to check for eavesdroppers before meeting the soft blue of the sailor's eyes again. Checking her expression. _Calm, patient, waiting: the same Lee as always_. The hunter continued, "I'm gonna take a horse, can see better from the ridge that way."

Redoing her ponytail with a flick of long curls down her back, Quinn sighed. The hunter was almost certainly right; she had assumed the sheriff would want her to accompany him on the search after their discussion the day before. Sharing responsibility would mean collaboration. They needed to both be on hand to convince Shane to hold his tongue if need be, as the sheriff and the sailor may be the only two capable of it. But the hunter going out on his own, again, raised alarms like goose bumps over her skin. He was more then equipped to manage the forest on his own, the most equipped of all of them, but a SEAL guarded her men's backs. _You already lost one Dixon by not watching his damned back._

"You find anything, or run into shit… you're gonna fuckin' whistle and let me know. Anything," Quinn paused, glancing over at the sleeveless man at her side and waiting for him to nod. He did, meeting her eyes with a grunt of understanding. Running a hand over her freckled face, the sailor continued, "Don't take stupid risks when I can't kill the shit at your back…you can ride a horse right?" the last question rasped with a slight smirk.

"Course I fuckin' can," The hunter responded, adding a push to the sailor's shoulder with a wide forearm for emphasis. "I'll whistle. Be listenin', Lee," he growled, the corner of his lips tugging up as he pushed himself out of the Subaru, gesturing Quinn after him with a jerk of his head. Toward where the others who had volunteered to search were gathering by Shane's recently acquired Hyundai.

After fishing her silenced handgun out of its hiding place in the seatback pocket of the driver's seat and tucking it in its leg holster, the sailor followed. She would not risk the day with only a knife on her side. Slamming her hatchback closed and locking the vehicle before she padded through the gravel to fall into step with the hunter, the sailor counted those gathered around the light green vehicle. Five. Seven counting herself and the hunter. Enough for a decent sized grid.

The void at her back from her missing knife was obvious as she and Daryl came to a halt amongst their companions, a hole in her armor, adding to her mounting anticipation for the day's search. They needed to find that little girl. Before it was too late.

She spent the search mostly silent.

Eyes on the leaf covered terrain and the low growing shrubs, looking for tracks and displaced branches. Forcing herself to focus despite the odd conversation bouncing around behind her. This is why she had wanted to track with another professional, with the hunter rather then the two heavy-footed lawmen swapping stories from high school at her back. Even scouring a grid on her own would have been more effective then the slow progress the sailor was currently making. _Slow to non-existent._

After an odd silence fell following yet another one of Shane's exploits with some teacher he had had, Quinn wiped the sweat from her brow and turned to face the two men. They were sweaty, glistening foreheads and stained shirts to match her own. The humidity was merciless despite the tree cover, and the search so far had produced nothing but water loss in their tired bodies and all recently wounded bodies.

The deputy seemed to be vibrating with frustration; the tension the sailor had felt from him throughout the hours searching finally about to boil over as he stood with his hands on his hips facing his partner. The object of his dominating stance, Rick, held his ground. Matching the position and cocking his head, inquiring without words what was on the large man's mind.

Quinn, noting the aggression, paced over to the two men. Planting herself between-but not dividing-them, her hands settling to clasp behind her back as she calmly glanced from one man to another. _Here we go._

The deputy snapped, his voice hitting his partner like a slap as he growled, "This is a waste of fucking time and energy that we don't have, Rick. We need to be focusing on surviving, not stumbling through the woods after some lost kid that probably would have died anyway," pausing to take in the sheriff's reaction, Shane's brows furrowed into a glare. Rick opened his mouth to speak, but the deputy interrupted, taking a step closer to the lean man he flatly stated, "72 hours man. 72 hours and were looking for a body. You know that, it's the first shit they taught us about missing children," the large man's voice quieted and he glanced from his partner to the sailor at their sides, "And that was before the turn…"

The sailor held her tongue as her honest eyed friend responded, stepping closer to him as he defended his reasoning for searching in a show of support. "What if it were Carl? We have to look. We have to hope, we can't be so focused on survival that we give hope away freely," the sheriff replied, head high and shoulders back before the hulking anger of his partner. He would not give up on his humanity. They could not.

"This isn't Carl," Shane retorted, taking a step away from the sheriff and sailor to gesture for them to move again, "Sophia, alive or dead, only matters to the degree she doesn't drag the rest of us down. We can't lose a capable person because of some foolish child." His mind on how Carl had been shot and Quinn had been stabbed all for this girl who was likely dead.

Rick and Quinn hadn't moved a step to follow him; with expressions ranging from surprise to disgust they stood shoulder to shoulder. Both wanting to show the other how firmly they disagreed with the deputy's words, if it was to be him against them, so be it.

The sailor could no longer keep her silence, voice snapping the retreating man's attention back to the pair like he had been yanked by the belt as she rasped, "Watch your fucking mouth, Walsh." The commanding tone that hadn't fallen from her in days filling the space between them, she strode over to the large man. Rick padded behind her, surprise creasing his brow. She invaded the deputy's space, dominating it with calm eyes and straight shoulders. "Giving up easily for feeble reasons, weighing the value of your men's lives: weaknesses of an arrogant man. An ignorant man. You think that is survival? What have you survived?" the sailor growled.

Blue glare burning the large man's face, he took a step back, shaking his head to dismiss her words. But the SEAL dropped a freckled hand on his shoulder before he could stray away from her, growling a final warning as the voices of T-Dog and Andrea drifted toward them through the trees, "Re-assess your opinions sheriff's deputy. Before I deem you drag us down."

With the appearance of the other searchers, they decided to head back. All were sweaty, exhausted, and thoroughly frustrated by a long day that had turned up no leads.

Rick and Quinn lead the group as they wove through the forest, making for the farmhouse they could glimpse through the thinning trees. Conversation was quiet between them, mostly nonverbal in an array of facial expressions and hand gestures as the tried to decide how to best deal with the facts of the day. They were going to have to let Carol down again, and the deputy who trailed at the back of the group was most likely going to raise his voice against more searching. Two problems to add to the fact that both were fairly sure that Jimmy, the teenage boyfriend of Beth who had accompanied T and Andrea on their search grid, had almost definitely not asked permission from Hershel to do so.

As they approached the house, climbing over a wood and wire fence to pace through a long grass field, Quinn caught sight of Glenn and Lori having an agitated discussion. A discussion she could assume the theme behind as the pair noticed them and the thin brunette made for her husband, pale face still flushed from frustration or embarrassment. It was then that the sailor split from the sheriff, offering him a shoulder squeeze as they were forced to abandon their conversation due to the approaching woman. As the lean man smiled at his wife, Quinn jogged to catch up with Glenn. They would manage these new problems, but today it would have to be each in their own way.

Falling into step with her copilot, the sailor threw an arm around his shoulders. Smiling at the shell-shocked look on his face as she murmured, "She tell you she's pregnant?"

Glenn hung his head, replying, "She's fucking crazy, Q," as he led them toward her Subaru. Catching her keys when she tossed them at him, the young Korean popped open the hatchback and plopped down in the back of the car. Dragging the chuckling sailor along with him.

Once they were safely seated in the vehicle, away from the others now milling around in the large gravel clearing before the house—likely discussing the days events—Glenn talked the freckled brunette through his confusing interaction with Maggie. The kid just didn't understand what she wanted. Did she like him? If she didn't why the fuck had she had sex with him? Eventually he stopped babbling and turned to the sailor with his innocent brown eyes, asking, "Do you think she's like hormonal or something, Q?"

Snorting loudly, Quinn collapsed onto her back in the Subaru, feet kicking aimless circles as they hung off the bumper while she detached her leg holster and re-hid her handgun. "I would go with 'or something', G" she rasped, patting him on the back as he let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand worriedly through his hair. _Poor kid._ "Do me a favor and never ask Maggie that. Roger?"

"Roger," he mumbled, brown eyes finding the girl in question as she strode across the grass toward them.

A hand shielding her eyes from the sun, Maggie came to a stop a few feet from the sailor's swinging legs. "Quinn? My dad asked if he could speak with you, if you don't mind. He's in his office," she said, eyes carefully avoiding the young Korean seated next to Quinn as she spoke.

Ah so it seemed Hershel had found out about Jimmy going on the search after all. Or perhaps he wanted to talk for some other reason… maybe about the horse she was certain Daryl had not asked to use. Freckled hands planting on the black carpet interior of her vehicle, the sailor propelled herself to her feet. Landing in front of the farmer's daughter as she rasped, "Thanks, Maggie. I'll go find him," with a nod, before padding toward the house. Happily aware that she had just left Glenn alone with the object of his anxiety.

* * *

With a brush in one hand and an apple in the other, the sailor crept toward the beast known as 'Nervous Nellie." The horse that her hunter had stolen for the day, which was now covered in an array of twig shrapnel and burrs. Looking at the large creature had hairs rising uneasily at her neck. If the horse had returned, where was the rider.

It seemed Hershel had found Rick before her, the two working out an agreement that each would manage their own people. Minimizing interaction and attachment. Staying cordial, but not combining. _So he had noticed Glenn…_ So when in his office the sailor had blatantly stated her role to him as different then this newly formed agreement, the farmer had been taken aback at first.

"I'm here to protect sir. Until we leave, that means everyone."

Eventually he had conceded, asking only that she tread the line between the groups carefully. Discreetly. His trust in her was not an open invitation to her group to come barging in his house. His initial trust in her was solely based on her rank and experience, her system of honor. Something he had made sure she knew that he believed some of her companions lacked.

As she had left the farmhouse, with a firm handshake and the offering of cleaning up the horse that her favorite hunter had been a bit hard on, she had noted the irony in his statement about her companions barging into his house. Drawing a laugh from the white-haired man as he had shook his head and glanced down toward the kitchen where the voices of her companions had been echoing. They had already barged into his house. Smiling at her apologetic expression he had headed toward the sound with a final nod to her and directions as to where to find a horse-brush and an apple.

"You'll need the apple. She really resembles her name."

With long gentle strokes the sailor began brushing the twitchy horse. Cooing to it in quiet Spanish words as she dragged the tool carefully over knotted, dirtied hair. All the while her mind whirling through scenarios that could of caused this amount of disruption in the animals coat, and more worrisomely what scenario could have caused it to return without the hunter. He knew how to ride, he had been so confident she was sure he would have known how to manage a slightly jumpy horse. Something had to have happened for him to have been thrown from the saddle. _You should have had his back_.

"Walker!"

The yell tore through the stable, causing Nellie to jump away from the sailor with large eyes bugging as Quinn spun to face the sound. Again the voice sounded. Female and accent-less. _Andrea._

With a trail of hay floating behind her, Quinn sprinted from the stable. Careful to shut the horse's stall as she went. The blonde had been on watch when the sailor had left the house, sitting somewhat pompously on the roof of the RV with Dale's rifle and binoculars in hand as she had argued her qualifications with the retiree.

When her feet hit gravel the sailor glanced out at the field, searching for the walker. She could see the forms of some of her male companions rushing toward the field from near the RV, headed by Rick… _Ah, there it is_. Stumbling through the tall grass toward the house, still near the tree line. Moving slowly and methodically.

 _Wait._

The sailor gasped audibly. Eyes growing with panic, she picked up her speed as she dashed for the RV where a very inexperienced Andrea was toting a long-range weapon. A yell tore from her throat as her boots flew over gravel and grass, a command, "Stand down!"

She could hear the blonde shouting from the top of the RV that she 'had the shot.' The yells of the men now entering the field to 'let them handle it' as they cut through the grass toward the bloodied figure, all apparently ignorant to the sailor's call.

"Stand down!" Quinn screamed this time, her already damaged vocal cords straining as she reached the far edge of the house. Maybe forty yards from the RV where she could now clearly see the blonde stretched out on her stomach with Dale's rifle to her shoulder. Taking aim at the stumbling form.

No response. So the sailor tried again, now near enough to the pursuing men and the armed blonde that there was no way they could not hear her. "Stand the fuck down!" she screamed, her voice cracking with strain as she slid across the hood of Hershel's car that had blocked her path.

That was no walker _._

Even as the heads of the men snapped to the sailor with the sound of her strained command, Andrea did not budge. Did not flinch in response or glance to the sprinting woman in any way. Her trigger hand was moving, Quinn could see her fingers lingering and twitching. Ready to take the shot.

Feet from the RV, the sailor made a decision. Hands hitting the ladder to the roof, she threw herself into the air. Yelling down to the men with the last scraps of her voice as she propelled herself, "Drop! Drop down now!"

They dropped, stomachs obediently to the grass, just as the blonde's finger pulled the trigger. The walker's head in her sites. Just as Quinn threw herself bodily into her shoulder, jerking the rifle's muzzle to the right of all those in the field as the weapon fired.

The shot resonated across the farm. The man, that was not a walker, crumpled.

Quinn forcefully untangled herself from a dazed and deflated Andrea. Paying the blonde no attention as she pushed herself to her feet, the sailor leapt off the top of the RV. Landing in a roll before again breaking into a sprint. Eyes only for the crumpled man in the field.

Voice a barely comprehensible wisp of her previous rasp, she yelled again. This time to an audience silent and listening. Those belly down in the grass frozen as they watched the freckled woman shoot through the tall grass.

"No! No, please, no! Daryl!"


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

He had seen that glint before.

Rage flecking the corners of an eye, burning uncontained. Savage.

It had been a mother bear, reared up on her hind legs with forepaws bared and muzzle snarling, wild eyes radiating fire as she glared down at the boy he had been. She had come barreling out of the woods into his path, putting herself between him and her three young cubs tumbling around on the road.

Despite the turn of the world, and the horrors he had faced, the sheriff had never again felt the sheer terror he had in that moment. Twelve years old on some backcountry trail, staring into the glinting eyes of an animal protecting her own. Into the eyes of death.

His chest was still glued to the grass, as he had been ordered. The other men down at his sides, watching as the flash of curls and freckles came sliding in to kneel at the crumpled man's side, a plume of dust at her heels. Even Shane had not yet dared to rise.

"Ace?" he heard her whisper, her voice destroyed from desperate calls, as she gently shook the hunters shoulders and checked for a pulse at his blood-smeared neck.

The field was silent as she knelt, those in the grass staring with breath held at the bloodied man who held her attention. Even those standing in front of the house, drawn to the shouting and gunfire, stood in silence with hands shielding their brows as they watched the scene. Fearful that sound might bring on the storm threatened in the SEAL's eyes.

But, after a moment the radiating rage seemed to diminish, the sailor's taught shoulders relaxing slightly as her hand continued to hover around the downed man's pulse point.

Rick let out an audible sigh of relief as he took in the woman's slight shift in demeanor, and pushing himself out of the grass with lean arms he approached the crouched sailor. Daryl was alive.

Quinn glanced up at him as he moved through the grass, the other men at his back, and he barely made out her rasped: "To Hershel, now," as she rose.

The sheriff nodded and dropped down the Daryl's side, looping a bare arm around his shoulder as he called for his partner to hoist from the other side. Together the two lawmen drew the injured hunter from the ground, allowing his crossbow to fall from his limp arm as they stared hustling back toward the house.

Crossbow now swung over her shoulder, the sailor appeared at his side, blue eyes worriedly glancing at the limp man he held every few seconds as she half listened to Glenn's attempts to calm her down. The young Korean had an arm around her shoulder the sheriff noted, he assumed in an attempt to restrain the sailor from explosion when her eyes would snap from the hunter to the blonde woman now racing toward them from the RV.

His partner's voice sounded from the hunter's other shoulder, deep and concerned, "Are those ears on 'is neck? What the fuck happened?" _Ears?_

Rick shot a look at the unconscious man's neck, honest eyes growing with shock as he took in the dirty piece of twine that held what could only be the ears of corpses. _What the fuck._ He heard the sailor and Glenn both swear colorfully as he lifted the string over Daryl's head.

"Let's keep that to ourselves," he muttered as he passed the offending object to the woman at his side, brows furrowing as he watched the ears disappear into her pocket. They didn't need Hershel and his people seeing that.

"Oh my god is he alright?!" Came a voice from before him, accompanied by the sound of clumsily running feet in the high grass. Eyes still on where the ears had disappeared as he and the rest of the group hustled steadily onward, the sheriff didn't even need to look up to know the owner of the voice. The growl at his side and the radiating energy of a predator ready to pounce told him enough.

Quinn lunged.

Glenn dove.

Andrea ran.

A yelp of fear escaped the proud blonde woman as she sprung backwards to retreat; terrified face transfixed on the enraged SEAL being bodily tackled to the ground.

"I suggest staying away," Rick called to the blonde as he and Shane plowed through the grass after her fleeing figure, both lawmen fighting the urge to stop watch the delivery boy's attempt to restrain Quinn. The sailor would be all right, their priority had to be the hunter.

"Hey guys! Isn't this Sophia's?" T-dog called from behind, back where Daryl had collapsed. All eyes turned to the large man.

The sailor stopped struggling against Glenn in the grass-mouth falling open-and the lawmen slowed their stride to glance back, both gasping at the object T held above his head. Sophia's stuffed-animal.

T ran after the two lawmen as they carried Daryl across the gravel drive toward a waiting Hershel. The rest of the farm's population crowding around, worried whispers and exclamations bouncing amongst them. Most watching Carol as she tearfully took the toy from T to clutch to her chest. New hope shining in her eyes.

The two lying tangled in the field were forgotten for a moment. Stuck on the ground, as both were unsure if they wanted to continue their struggle. Quinn was calming down, the red leaving her vision and her control returning with each slow rise and fall of her chest. Where as Glenn was considering releasing the sailor on the blonde, his anger barely contained, she had just shot his friend in the fucking head after all.

"We should be with him," Quinn muttered after a moment, gazing up at the sky from where she was pinned on her back. Her scraps of voice calm enough to convince her copilot to roll off of her with her words.

She hopped to her feet, popping her shoulders and neck in an attempt to release the rest of her rage before turning to offer Glenn a hand. He took it gladly, and she yanked him up with a slight grimace, stiches pulling uncomfortably at her side. Big brown eyes in their best puppy-dog expression, he stared at her apologetically once he was on his feet.

"I'm sorr—" he started, but the sailor cut him off with a squeeze to the shoulder and a shake of her head. Quinn knew that she would have attacked the blonde if it weren't for her sidekick's quick reflexes. Attacked without restraint before her head had caught up to the fury created by seeing her man go down. Seeing Daryl go down. _He's alive, Quinn. He's alive._ There were some impulses she could no longer manage as well as she once could. A rage she couldn't always stem.

Rubbing at the jagged scar at the back of her head, Quinn whispered, "Nah, you did good," and nudged the kid with a shoulder as they started picking their way through the tall grass toward the old white house.

They pushed their way through the worried crowd in the house, Glenn even ignoring Maggie as he tailed the SEAL. Patricia, who was playing guard at the door to the room that held the hunter, didn't even attempt to stop the sailor when Quinn met her eyes. The quiet woman cracked the door so that the two could squeeze in, eyes darting away timidly from those she had denied entrance.

He was awake. Lying on the bed that had held the recovering Carl until only hours ago, as the boy had just been cleared to move around. Hershel and Rick were both leaning over him, one on either side. Rick with a map clutched in his hand, trying to make the hunter focus on where he had found the toy, as Hershel cut away his shirt from his wound. Exposing his body and making the gruff man grunt in pain.

With the sound of the door opening he had panicked, trying to force the white haired veterinarian away so that he could cover his bare torso, the quick movement causing his face to contort in pain as he again grunted in pain.

"Easy, Ace," Quinn rasped quietly as she and Glenn approached the end of the bed, not able to say more as her damaged voice died in her throat. But the hunter calmed as his exhausted brain recognized them, ice blue eyes sinking into her own as he allowed Hershel to continue slicing away his shirt.

As Glenn sunk into a small armchair at the foot of the bed, brown eyes narrowed with worry as he watched Hershel clean the gaping hole in the hunter's side, Rick beckoned the sailor to his shoulder to look at the map. Daryl had been able to identify the spot in the creek where he had found the toy, significantly reducing their search area. This was the break they had so desperately needed, the lawman had explained, a hand squeezing her shoulder with his overflowing hope.

She could feel the hunter's eyes hovering on her face as she examined the map, slowly taking in the area he had been in that had led him to this much injury. And to this most important discovery, a clue that had hope growing in her heart like a weed. Sophia was close. They would find her.

Rick left the little room, going to find his partner to explain the new search grids, allowing Quinn to look up to meet the pained gaze of the man now being stitched. She cocked an eyebrow. Wanting to ask what had happened, but knowing he had already given Hershel a story and was unlikely to share details until they were alone. That was just the way of the younger Dixon.

As she had predicted, the half-conscious man shook his head and mouthed 'later.' An action that drew a frustrated sigh from her chest as she moved to perch in the armchair that had been abandoned when Rick dragged her copilot from the room to help him with his planning. The young Korean had left regretfully, exchanging a nod with the hunter and sailor as he disappeared out the door.

Hershel eventually finished his stitches, working methodically in the comfortable silence of the room. Pleased the sailor had entered and so effectively placated his patient. He left quietly, packing up his medical kit as Daryl seemed to drift out of consciousness again. The strain on his body dragging him into sleep. The white haired man smiled at Quinn as he paused at the door, muttering, "I'll make sure they save you both some food, sailor," before drawing the door shut at his back.

Quinn returned the smile, grateful for the retreating figure despite his secrets as she stared at the neat stitches on the hunter's brow. Where a bullet had grazed him. A bullet from his own man. _I should kill the bitch…_ "You gonna tell me what happened?"

Eyes still firmly shut, the hunter growled, "Fuckin' jumpy horse 'appened. Where'd your voice go? Ya sound like a chain-smoker." as he brought the hand on his side not recently stitched up to prod his bullet wound.

The sailor snorted at the comment, before pushing herself out of the little armchair to poke the hunter's hand away from his face. "You're going to ruin his stitches," she croaked as she settled cross-legged on the bed, "and I always sound like a chain-smoker."

He smirked at her response, eyes still closed, hand now resting on his face instead of picking at his injury. Giving in to the freckled woman's command.

Now that she was closer the sailor had a better view of the jagged wound in the injured man's side. It was reddened, angry, and went all the way through his abdomen. A stark contrast to the expanse of bare torso exposed above the sheet. "You mean to tell me you got that falling off a horse?" she questioned, dark brows furrowed in concern. Leaning closer and dropping into a whisper the sailor continued, "Ace, I have the ears you had around your neck… talk to me,"

Light eyes popping open, the hunter met her gaze. Surprise and worry etched in the frown that fell over his features, expecting to find disgust or fear on the freckled face before him. He found neither, only calm soft blue eyes waiting patiently. Trusting him. _This is Lee._ "Fell inta a steep creek bed, landed on a bolt," he started, rough voice low. Pausing to glance down at where the ugly hole was now stitched shut, "Musta knocked me out…woke up with a couple walkers around," he continued.

The choppiness of his slowly told story was enough to clue to the sailor that the hunter was leaving out some things, but she didn't press. She just waited, settled on the bed, gaze floating from his sharp eyes to the falling sun visible out the single pane windows. Knowing that eventually he would tell her what he needed to, what he was comfortable with.

As the hunter paused for a particularly long time, after struggling to explain how he had climbed out of the creek bed he had fallen into, the sailor turned from the warm colors now glinting through the window to meet his eyes. "I think I would have killed her…" she whispered, one hand twisting the end of her long curly mane, "…if you had died from that shot. I think would have." Her eyes roamed up to the wound on his head as she fell silent again.

With a large callused hand the hunter shoved Quinn's shoulder, drawing her eyes away from his bullet wound as he growled, "I ain't dead." Smirking at the smile he drew from her as she was pushed slightly off balance. Taking a deep breath, the hunter continued, voice quieter as if he was unsure of his own words, "There was something else Lee… In the forest. While I was fighti—"

The door of the little room creaked open, cutting off Daryl's words and causing both sets of blue eyes to jump to the entrance. Quinn's hand instinctually on the hilt of her lone blade.

Carol appeared in the opening, holding a plate of food and wearing a timid smile. She looked caught off guard to find the muscled woman sitting on the bed where the hunter lay. His eyes firmly shut as if sleeping. "Oh! Quinn, Hershel saved a plate of food for you downstairs, I didn't know you were up here or I would have brought it," Carol offered, seeming disappointed with herself for not thinking of bringing the second plate of food.

With a smile to the pretty gray haired woman and a pat to the hunter's knee that was stretched out before her, the sailor propelled herself from the bed. Rasping, "Oh don't worry about it Carol, I'll head down there now!" as she made for the door, trying to hide her amusement that the hunter was now feigning sleep to avoid talking. She snuck a last look at the prone man as she pulled the door to the little room shut, the sheets now pulled up to his chin and hid arms crossed over his chest. _She knows you aren't sleeping._

The communal dinner that her companions had planned to put on for the farm residents had apparently not gone as well as they had wanted, as the dining room was mostly vacant as the sailor padded through it in search of food. But she had expected so much…the thought had been genuine, but they had seemed not to grasp the invasion they had created in the farmer's space.

The farmer himself was one of those still at the table. Leaning back slightly in his chair, he was spinning some story of his past to his youngest daughter. The blonde girl listening intently from a few seats away, feet propped up on the chair next to her. The both paused at the soft sound of footsteps, and then visibly relaxed when they found the sailor. "Oh good, your food was getting cold," Hershel stated, gesturing over his shoulder to the kitchen where a plate covered with a kitchen towel sat on the counter.

It smelled delectable, a pile of meat and vegetables like she hadn't seen in weeks. Leaning over the counter with a knife in one hand and a fork in the other, Quinn went about eating. Occasionally pausing to answer a question Hershel threw her way from where he now sat alone at the table. Beth had retreated to her room when Shane had briefly re-entered the house looking for Rick, offering the sailor a bright smile and a little wave before dashing to her room.

The deputy had not found his partner in the house, and had quickly stormed out again with know acknowledgement to the owner. He had briefly checked in with the sailor on the hunter's health and on the plans for the next day, but his mind seemed set on something else. Someone else.

"I don't trust that man," Hershel had plainly stated as the deputy had left his house, eyes falling on Quinn as the sailor cleaned her dish in the kitchen sink. She offered him a sigh and a little nod, expressing without words that the burly man tended to have that affect. Shane was going to be her companions' biggest issue in the argument to let them stay on this farm…

As she turned off the water, placing the now cleaned plate in a drying rack with its set, she heard a pair of voices floating in the open window from the deck outside. Familiar despite their quiet tone… as they were two voices often heard together. Generally arguing. Dale and Andrea were seated on the ledge of the deck below the kitchen window, the blonde downtrodden and self-depreciating as she talked the retiree through what had happened on top of the RV. Dale reassuring, consoling, attempting to calm the woman who was clutching her knees in distress. Quinn listened in silence for a moment, frozen as her anger began to boil up again. New and revived.

"Don't feel bad, c'mon we've all wanted to shoot Daryl," the retiree stated to Andrea, his voice reassuring as he tightened his arm around her shoulder.

Quinn's knuckles tightened on the edge of the counter, white and strained, her whole body coiling with anger. _How could he say that? Daryl could have died._ Just as she was about to open her mouth and push herself off the counter to head for the deck, a hand dropped on her shoulder. Heavy, holding her calmly in place. Not with force, but attitude. Hershel sighed from her side and gave her shoulder a squeeze, "The foolish will always validate foolishness. The honorable do not stoop from their honor."

Placated, the sailor tore her attention from the offending voices and dragged a hand over her freckled face. Her mind whirling back to the last time she had heard those words spoken rather than engraved in a tombstone. "Yes sir," she rasped, and allowed the farmer to lead her away from the window. The two falling into a lengthy discussion on naval bases and operations as they settled back at the table, subjects that were starting to seem a distant memory to the Lieutenant Commander.

The sun had sunken fully behind the horizon now, with only a slight line of pink hinting at the brilliance of color that had filled the sky. And with it's disappearance the farmer had gone to bed, asking only that she shut the door when she left for the night. Offering a small smile as he disappeared into the depths of the house.

Before heading out to fetch her rifle for a night watch she was hopeful would be uneventful, the sailor padded back toward the little room that held the injured hunter. She had heard Carol leave the house while Shane had been discussing his tactics for the next day's shooting lessons with her, so the sailor was hopeful that the hunter had eaten. But she wanted to check. To make sure he was okay. _And still alive._

The room was dark as she cracked the door open, trying to move the old hinges so that they wouldn't creak as they often did. Light from the hallway spilled in as she opened it, illuminating a stripe across the bed as she slipped through the door.

"Who's there?" came the gravelly voice of a half-asleep Daryl, the slight movement of his knees illuminated in the streak of light from the hallway.

"Just me," Quinn rasped quietly, shutting the door behind her so that the room was only lit by the glow from the crack at the bottom of the door, "Wanted to double check that you weren't dead…" she continued as she perched onto the edge of the bed next to the hunter.

A quiet bark of laughter followed by a grunt of pain met her ears as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The hunter pushed himself up a bit in the bed, the sheet falling from his chest as he attempted to lean toward her. "I still ain't dead, Lee. Quit worryin'," he muttered, propped up slightly on his good side with sharp eyes scanning her face.

"Then quit tryin' to die," the sailor retorted, flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder as she arched an eyebrow at the injured man. He snorted in response, maybe rolled his eyes, she couldn't quite tell.

"Yer one to talk," He growled, eyes falling to where a bloodstain sat on her t-shirt, marking the still-healing wound that lay beneath. Her stitches had been damaged in her tussle with Glenn, but she hadn't had the heart to tell her copilot that. He meant well, and she was fine. "How 'bout we both jus' stay fuckin' healthy 'n fuck up the next person that tries to kill one of us…" he continued, voice quieting, almost sounding embarrassed, "Carol said you probably saved me, said you tried to get everyone to stand down… said you tackled Andrea as she was shootin'."

Quinn rubbed a callused over her face, his reminder of the day's events bringing anger bubbling back to her body. "She wasn't standing down. What the fuck was I supposed to do, let her kill you?" she whispered, eyes floating to the single pane window that was now glowing with moonlight.

"Hey I ain't complainin'…I jus'…" the hunter paused, for a few moments, as if unsure of what to say. Of what to do. Eventually he reached out a large hand and enveloped the sailor's small freckled one that rested on the bed and squeezed it beneath his, muttering, "jus'… thanks, Lee." He retracted the hand quickly, the same unsure look she had seen in his eyes lingering for a moment before his gaze settled on her own.

Pushing herself off the bed the sailor squeezed the hunter's knee over the blankets, relishing in the look of annoyance he gave at the action, and rasping, "Sleep. I'll be searching the area you were in tomorrow and probably the next few days, I'd like to have you back at my back, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah," the hunter whispered, his eyes closing as she paced back to the door, heading for her rifle and another long night.

* * *

"He's gonna be alright, isn't he?"

The kid had heard her singing, well humming, in the night. _It isn't singing with that voice, not anymore._

At some late hour, well past when the rest of the large white farmhouse had fallen into silence and the little tent village had extinguished their lanterns within canvas walls, the sailor had let the melody coiling in her mind spring up from her chest into a soft hum. The sound vibrating off the metal of the scope pressed to her eye and the stock resting against her cheek. Floating up into the clear sky and the bright glow of the moon, some hopeful tune her brother had always loved. _Ever the optimist._ An appropriate choice, given the circumstances.

The window below her current rooftop perch apparently belonged to the farmer's youngest daughter. A girl that seemed to possess hawk-like hearing and no concept of a reasonable bedtime.

"Yes, Beth, I believe he is," the sailor rasped quietly down to the girl now leaning out her window ledge. Bright blonde hair glowing in the moonlight.

The kid smiled at her words, big and innocent. The smile of someone that had not seen death. Joyful, youthful. The world needed more people like Beth, Quinn decided as the pale blonde started asking the sailor about her musical tastes. Ever curious about the mysterious lady lying on the roof who hummed hopeful songs.

As Beth finally named a song that the sailor knew, and happily started to quietly sing into the darkness out her window, Quinn caught a flash of light in the trees.

Another flash… maybe it was her imagination, or the reflection of the moon, the sailor wondered as she started to hum along with the young blonde's soft singing. Unable to stop herself from joining in a familiar song.

She adjusted her rifle to face the forest, curiosity burning her senses as she peered through her scope, the hum of her voice vibrating the metal against her face. Like a flashlight, or a lighter, high in a tree in the forest something flashed again.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

Where the fuck was she.

Of all the times for the freckled sniper to vanish… Glenn continued peering—as discretely as he could-around the menagerie of tents and cars that made up the survivors' camp, looking for familiar curly hair while carefully avoiding a sternly glaring Maggie. The oldest Greene daughter had made it _very_ clear that he couldn't share his newest discovery with anyone, made him promise that he wouldn't. But how the fuck was he supposed to keep this ridiculousness to himself. _Quinn has to know._ The young Korean edged away from the pretty farm girl, toting the basket of fruit she had given him as he escaped away toward T-dog.

The large bald man was slowly making his way over to where Rick and Shane were gathering those who wanted to learn to shoot, his pace making it easy for Glenn to fall into step at his side. It was early, early enough for the air to still be cool and patterns of dew to still be visible in the grass. The sun hadn't risen fully, it's climb still marked by strands of color stretching the horizon as it sat beaming brightly at eye level. The sailor rose early, Glenn knew that. He had been forced awake by her to join in on some morning scouting trip or another back at the quarry, when she would shake him awake with all the delicacy of the SEAL she was. But he almost always saw her in the morning. Or at least someone had. "You seen Q?" the young Korean inquired hopefully as he let T pick from the basket of fruit Maggie had given him as hush money, his brown eyes still hopping around the camp in search of the SEAL.

Shaking his head as he took a bite of a perfectly ripe peach, T gave an apologetic shrug. Swallowing, he wiped his mouth; "I ain't seen 'er since last night. Try Rick, those two always tend to know what the other is doin'," he said as he and Glenn neared the group of potential gun wielders.

Eyes roaming back toward the barn for the millionth time that morning, the young Korean muttered a quiet, "Right," before jogging forward a bit to appear at the sheriff's elbow. All the while keen to avoid the accusatory glare of Maggie Greene that seemed inescapable. _Quinn would know what to do. Quinn always knew what to do._

He cleared his throat and prodded the lean lawman in the side, drawing Rick's attention away from his questioning of Patricia and the farmer's youngest daughter for a moment.

"What?" the lean man asked, voice harsh and eyes stern, frustrated that he had to deal with Hershel's people potentially lying to him again. But as he turned and faced the young Korean, Rick softened immediately at his expression, "What is it?" he asked again. Brows furrowing with worry as he watched the young man's eyes dart around the campsite.

Flipping off his hat to run a hand through his hair, Glenn tried to calm himself down. He really did intend to keep Maggie's secret, the farm's secret… at least until he found the sailor. So panicking in the face of Rick was probably a terrible idea… in his best attempt at a casual voice Glenn asked, "Have you seen Quinn? Like this morning? I need her for something…important." Brown eyes searching the sheriff's face hopefully as he spoke.

Thin eyebrow cocked at the kid's odd behavior, Rick responded, "she went to search the grid nearest where Daryl found the toy," dropping a hand on Glenn's shoulder so he could lead them both a few feet away from the crowd of awaiting firearm-students as he continued, "wasn't too happy that we were prioritizing shooting over searching after finding such a big lead…plus I may have suggested a day away from Andrea may be best…" The lean man's eyes fell on the proud blonde as he said her name, his eyes a mix of disappointment and frustration as he watched her fiddle with her handgun.

Glenn shook his head, muttering a colorful string of curses under his breath before inhaling deep and giving the lawman a "thanks" for his info. However little help it had provided him. Not only was the sailor not here to tell him what to do about the monster problem lurking in the barn, but also she had gone out on her own? He had seen the bloodstain on her shirt the day previous, Glenn knew that her stitches had been damaged when he had tackled her. _Fuckin Andrea…_

His face must have given away his distress because before he walked away, giving Shane some excuse about helping Dale to escape shooting lessons, Rick ruffled his hair and murmured, "She'll be fine. Probably'd be pissed if she saw you worryin' like this," before pushing him amicably toward a slightly confused Dale.

Walking toward the retiree, Glenn's mind whirled through ideas of what to do about his predicament. Quinn was in the woods somewhere, probably would be for like all fucking day. Not that he could blame her for being out there…really they all should be out there looking. His back up plan, Daryl, was currently sleeping and injured in his tent. The idiot had given up a perfectly good bed to be back outside again, god what he would give for a bed. _Scruffy dumbass archer…_ Maggie was already pissed at him, and would likely be more pissed if he told someone about… about the fucking WALKERS in the barn. He could still feel her icy stare even as she stood yards away on the deck. The young Korean kicked at a rock in his path in frustration, sending it spinning across the grass toward the retiree's feet. And then there was the shit with Lori. _Jesus._

"You going to tell me what this is all about, son?" came Dale's voice, pulling the young Korean out of his ponderings. The retiree had smoothly gone along with his excuse to Shane, but now his patience for an explanation seemed to be growing thin.

Meeting Dale's inquisitive stare at last, Glenn made a decision.

"There are walkers in the barn…and Lori's pregnant."

* * *

The path had not been difficult to follow. Between the clumsy footsteps and the lingering bloodstains on trees. Not difficult, not in the technical way.

She ached as she passed broken twigs and disrupted foliage, the signs of the tired dragging feet of an injured man. Her worried mind imagining him fighting to keep conscious, losing blood with every step. Alone, near death, but leaving her a trail of breadcrumbs to follow back to his discovery. Be it purposeful or not.

With a long exhale of breath; the sailor crouched beside the remains of a squirrel. Its abdomen cut neatly by hunting knife, its meat removed with precision. She was getting closer. The heavy scent of creek water was floating on the warm breeze, strong even as she hovered over the meat-stripped rodent that had no doubt kept the hunter alive.

He had been awake when she left.

As she had left the bleary-eyed sheriff she had forced awake to inform of her plan for the day, abandoning him to happily return to sleep for at least another hour, the sailor had caught sight of a figure sneaking out the front door of the old white farmhouse. Sneaking like a damned teenager passed curfew. It was early enough that he could have probably had made it to his tent without notice, the day still so new that the sun was only a bright hint at the horizon. Could have, but did not.

"Morning," she had rasped as her silent footfalls had carried her to the somewhat delirious man's side. Stopping him in his tracks with a very un-Dixon start halfway between the house and his tent.

With a Fist flying out to connect with her shoulder, he had growled, " _Fuckin' bitch,_ " under his breath. Clearly uncomfortable that he had been surprised. Dixons were never caught off guard. After a moment of rubbing his eyes and yawning as the two had stood in the dewy grass, the hunter gaze had grazed over her body. Taking in the snow-camo rifle slung across her back and the handgun at her hip, he had mumbled, "yer headed out already? Gimme a minute 'n I'll come wit ya." Stepping forward with his last sentence, he had avoided her eyes as if predicting her response.

"Not a chance."

Chunks of red clay fell away from her feet, tumbling down the steep creek-bed wall into the water below. The drop was significant, more then enough to have knocked out a full-grown man, and to cause a nightmare of trouble climbing back out again. The sailor's mind crept again to the man she had ordered to stay back from this search, the nasty bolt wound at his side had likely drawn the three twice dead corpses that now lay sprawled in the water. His survival was growing more impressive with every moment she spent retracing his steps, as was the fear tingling the back of her head in realizing that he had been so close to not returning. If only she had been at his side doing her damned job. Watching her men's back seemed to be growing more difficult, with resources and energy spread thin between the search for Sophia, planning for a possible move and managing the group at the farm…this was when people started getting hurt. Started dying.

The downed walkers marked where the hunter had found the toy, if his memory wasn't too tarnished by the head trauma he was likely sporting, so her jump into untouched search grid started here. Quinn scanned the surrounding foliage, looking for signs of disruption that could mean Sophia's trail. The large leaves of the tightly knit deciduous trees creating a dappling of light that complicated her tracking, forcing the SEAL to slow her steps and focus. She crept forward, head swiveling as she absorbed all she could, stepping carefully so that her own footprints wouldn't distract from later searching. Wiping sweat from her brow, she tread along the cliff's edge, hoping that she wouldn't have to descend to the creek every time she swiveled her attention back to the bed and the opposite bank.

But when had she ever been so lucky.

At first the sailor thought it was a trick of the light, a hazard of the sporadic shadows of leaves. But, with her rifle to her shoulder and scope to her eye, Quinn could see it clearly.

The kid had always had a sweet tooth, from the first day the sailor had arrived at the quarry she had noticed. Sugar had been the young girl's escape. When her father had gotten into a mood, maybe had chased after her mother, Sophia would sit quietly with a piece of chocolate. Unmoving, silent, shutoff from the pains of her life as long as the piece would last. This love of chocolate had been Quinn's first way of connecting with the kid, who had at first been terrified of the tattooed and muscular woman. Another threat, in her young mind.

A king-sized Snicker's bar had been the olive branch Quinn offered when she had found Sophia crying behind the Dixon's truck one afternoon. Maybe four days after the SEAL's arrival to camp. The kid's father had been yelling at Carol down by the reservoir while the gray-haired woman had attempted to do laundry, the interaction too much for Sophia on that particular day. Quinn's first instinct had been to intervene in the fight, but she had been told her time would be better spent finding Sophia by the broad chested deputy. Now she would have ignored Shane…but then she hadn't know these people. So she had sat with her back to the aging hubcap of one of that old blue truck's tires and eaten half a Snickers bar, Sophia at her side with a little smile on her face as she chewed the other. Silent but content.

Across the creek bed, up in a sturdy thick-branched tree on the opposite bank, a Snickers wrapper was caught amongst the leaves. A king sized wrapper, like the ones the sailor couldn't get Sophia to stop stealing from the bag in her Subaru…

"Sophia?" Quinn rasped hopefully.

* * *

He clambered to his feet when he saw her emerge from the tree line, lowering his old binoculars so they swung from their strap as the retiree headed for the ladder of his RV. Dale had had an interesting day so far, and the return of the SEAL was the first good thing to happen of many _many_ odd events. He was craving a sane and sound opinion, especially after his conversation with Hershel.

"Quinn!" he called, beckoning the sailor his way as she hopped over the metal pasture gate. She waved in response, and the retiree's face broke into a smile at the hopeful look shining in her eyes as she jogged his way. Yes, she was certainly the first good thing that day.

A flash of white teeth and freckles came to a stop at Dale's side, and a small callused hand shot out, holding something before his face. Looked like a bit of trash… "I found this near where the toy was found," the sailor explained, raspy voice radiating hope, "this means the trail is still fresh. Dale, we're going to find her!"

Eyes widening, the retiree took a closer look at the scrap of brown and silver. It was a candy wrapper…from the bars that Sophia carried religiously. He glanced back to the sailor, taking in her slightly disheveled appearance. Dirt covered her boots spotted her jeans and shirt, black blood flecked her arms and the hilt of the knife he could se at her back. Another of his companions had been alone against the world…how far would they go to find this little girl? How long until one didn't come back. Clearing his throat and his negativity, the retiree gave the SEAL's arm a squeeze, stating, "Carol will be overjoyed," as he met her eyes.

Nodding happily the sailor started to move away from him, toward where Carol could be seen at the opposite side of the little tent community. But the retiree stopped her, hand still on her arm as he continued, "Quinn, there's something else—" he paused for a moment, gray brows furrowing as he glanced from her to the barn and back, waffling with a decision"—Glenn was looking for you this morning. The kid was near panic, I think its important. I haven't seen him that stressed in a while." Maybe it was best if Glenn breaks the secret of the farm…maybe it wasn't his place to betray the farmer just yet, he decided as Hershel came into view through the kitchen window.

The retiree hid his grimace of regret as the happiness on the freckled face before him melted into concern. "Where is he?" she rasped, her haunting shreds of a voice a reminder of the awful events of the day previous. Of the disappointment he felt toward the stubborn blonde he saw as a daughter.

Dale explained the supply run that Glenn was making for Lori, unsurprised when the sailor seemed to know exactly what the young Korean had been sent to find. He even broke a smile at her expression of pure annoyance toward actions the thin brunette, and now pregnant, woman. "He should be back in an hour or so," he finished, a hand to the brim of his hat to help shade his eyes as he stared out toward the outlet road.

"Fuck it, I'll go now. Give this to Carol, would you?" the sailor responded, thrusting the wrapper into his hand and spinning on her heel to head toward her car before he had the chance to say another word.

She needed to go to the town anyway, Quinn thought as she strode away from the gray-haired man. Leaving him to deliver the good news. She rolled her shoulders, loosening her muscles that had held a rifle to her shoulder for most the day. There was a medication she was hoping to find in the little town her copilot had described from his previous run.

Black boots coming to a stop next to the Subaru, the sailor popped open the driver's door and set her snow rifle on the seat generally occupied by Glenn. Some where behind her she could hear Carol crying what could only be happy tears into Dale's shirt, her shaky voice repeating: "thank you," on a reel. Pushing the car in gear, Quinn tugged the wheel toward the outlet road, rolling slowly down the gravel with her window down so that she could shout to Rick as she passed by.

"Be back soon, getting something from the town… if you need me, shoot something loud," the sailor rasped as she rolled by the sheriff. He offered her a nod in return, and a request if she had the time to find it, before he headed toward Dale as she had suggested.

Asphalt before her, trees whipping by the heavily tinted windows of her beloved vehicle, the sailor spun through reasons Glenn could have wanted to find her so urgently. Thumb tapping the tune the copilot used to always sing, she came to the conclusion that it had to be something that would put him or someone in eminent danger. The kid could handle most things, he was brave and headstrong…traits of someone made for tough times. But if he really needed her, then it was something that scared him… and she had an inkling as to what it might be. _Damn this farm and its secrets._

The two horses tethered outside the store shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her black vehicle into park across the street. Grabbing her rifle, the sailor popped open her car door and stood for a moment. Waiting. Listening.

In Alaska there is one lesson taught to children and newcomers alike that is absolutely necessary for survival. For people that have never lived in sheer wilderness, the thought of pausing and listening before continuing about business would have never occurred. It would seem wasteful, unnecessary. Aren't human's the most dangerous game? Why should a person pause? But in Alaska, in Alaska you pause and you listen. Because in the wild there are things to be heard. Two things. Things that are harmless, and things that will eat you.

Quinn knew for a fact it was almost always the latter.

Nothing but the sounds of Maggie and Glenn arguing within the little store met her ears for a moment. Then there was a shuffle of feet, dead feet, as they continued to argue none the wiser.

Maggie screamed.

With trained precision the SEAL sniper swung her rifle to her shoulder, eye to her scope. Muscles taught and coiled, she aimed. Trigger tap. A harsh pip of air.

The corpse collapsed as Maggie screamed again, the sailor could see Glenn rush forward to envelope the young woman in his arms as she crept forward at the ready. Rifle still up, body tense. "That wasn't a headshot, G!" Quinn warned as she looked up and down the street for more bodies flocking to the sound of the scream.

"Fuck!" she heard her copilot exclaim as the downed body gurgled from the ground.

As the sailor pushed open the door to the store with her shoulder, rifle raised and ready for the kill shot, she saw Glenn rush forward wielding his hatchet. Quickly grabbing Maggie's arm and pulling the farmer's daughter behind her, Quinn watched as her friend brought his weapon down on the thing's skull again and again. Showering his legs in rotting blood. _Shit not this again._

"Glenn?" Maggie's soft call pulled her copilot out of his rage. He turned, brown eyes apologetic, to the two women standing at his back.

The farmer's daughter released the death grip she had had on the sailor's shirt and rushed forward, enveloping Glenn in a crushing hug as tears threatened at the corners of her eyes. This was her first interaction with a corpse, Quinn realized as she met Glenn's gaze over Maggie's back. Her first near-death experience.

"How did you know?" Glenn asked, voice muffled by his brunette companion as she released him to stand between him and the sailor. Maggie nodded her curiosity as well, as the young Korean continued, "Fuck, Q. Thank god…thank god," his voice fading off as he calmed down.

Swinging her rifle back over her back, she pulled them both into her for a hug, "Just got lucky. Rare these days though," Quinn rasped as she released them. Eyes flicking to Glenn she continued, "Dale said you were looking for me, said it was urgent?"

Like a deer in headlights, Glenn froze. Brown eyes growing as they darted from her face to Maggie's growing look of anger. Quinn sighed and waved a hand between the two to disperse the tension, "I thought it might be about that," she stated plainly, "Where exactly did you try to um…seduce… this nice young lady last night?" the sailor asked, enjoying the shade of pink that sprung to both young faces. The farmer's secret was not going to last very long if her copilot knew…if there was ever a worst person to know a secret, it was Glenn Rhee. Jerking her head toward the horses outside Quinn continued, "Kids these days… Go back to the farm. I'll talk to you about it tonight."

With a promise to follow soon after, the sailor sent the two horses clopping back down the road toward the farm. Their riders an odd combination of shaken and embarrassed.

Two facades down from the little store that now held a twice-dead corpse, was a bar. Dark windows, dark wood, dark liquor all thematically together as the sailor pushed open one of the heavy wooden doors. She paused once inside. Waiting and listening, but there was nothing. Nothing but dust covered surfaces and sealed glass bottles. Padding across the dark stained floors, clouds of dust rising with her feet, Quinn headed for the bar. Scanning the shelves stacked neatly behind for something in particular. _Ah,_ _Perfect._

* * *

 _The fuck do they want now._

Knuckles rapping on the canvas of his tent shocked the hunter awake.

He had been dreaming. Or maybe hallucinating. Which ever it had been it had been much more pleasant than being awake. No pain in his side. No pain in his head. His brother swearing at him. Laughing like the old redneck fool he was, and Quinn…Quinn smiling. That smile that spans her whole face, just a happy mash up of teeth and freckles. He had only seen it once. Once on the real Quinn…how many times in his head. He needed to talk to the sailor, that's why he'd been dreaming about her, he told himself. Needed to tell her what he'd seen, what had got him back to camp. Back to her.

Merle had saved him. Not the real one…not the one with no hand who was likely miles away. If not dead. _He ain't dead._ But all the same his brother had saved him. Gotten him up off his ass and back to the SEAL.

He needed to tell her… Or maybe he didn't. Maybe the urge was sprouting from the head injury that had his vision swirling every time he opened his damn eyes. He could still be hallucinating; the last time he had been his this hard in the head he hadn't been right for days… Back when he lived in his father's house.

The fluttering scratching sound of knuckles on canvas sounded again. Harder this time. Determined.

With a frustrated grunt the hunter pushed himself out of his cot with the arm on his good side, flinching slightly in pain as he moved. "Fuck you want?!" her growled as he aggressively unzipped his tent door. Curses bubbling in his chest he glared out at the offending party.

"Easy, easy," came a familiar rasp.

Harsh words dying in his throat and anger extinguishing, the hunter met her soft blue eyes. She was smiling. That real smile, with white teeth flashing across her freckled face. _Lord._ Her laugh washed over him as she crouched down to be at his eye level in the doorway of the tent, making the injured man forget the throbbing of his head for a moment. "Why you look so damn pleased with yerself, Lee?" the hunter murmured, fighting the smirk growing at the corner of his lips. Her smile was contagious. Like god damn sunlight. _Fuck, I must be concussed…_

"I have a proposition, Ace. If you're up for it. Some shit happened today and I wanna talk you through it," The sailor rasped, offering him a hand to pull him to his full height outside his canvas sanctuary.

With an eyebrow cocked, the hunter nodded and allowed himself to be led toward the sailor's dark vehicle. Noting the unopened glass bottle of amber liquid that hung from her hand as she scaled the Subaru and turned to pull him up, the corner of his lips twitching up again.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

"Did you see that?"

The sailor's question hung in the night air, her eyes glued on a speck of light in the distant trees. Senses alert. Waiting for it to flicker on and off as it had the night before. Almost like a signal would.

Almost like Morse code.

As she had expected, the small speck disappeared for a moment. Only to reappear and flicker for a few seconds, holding her rapt attention.

The man at her side made a sleepy groan in response to her question. Shifting slightly on the dark blue scarf that pillowed his head. His eyes were closed; of course he hadn't seen it. The sailor shook her head with a small smile on her face as she glanced down at the hunter. Stretched out on his back, the gruff man occupied most of the space on top of her hatchback, forcing her to lean into him as she sat cross-legged staring out toward the distant spot of light. Quinn gently plucked the still mostly full bottle of amber liquid from his hand, noting the slight twitch of his lips as she did so.

The hunter was still obviously on the mend, as he could generally stay alert at her side long into the night. A bit of whiskey and some time sitting up had exhausted his injured body, he hadn't even lasted long enough for her to tell him about the one particular gaping threat at the farm…Quinn let out a soft rush of air and pushed a few stray curls away from her face. Maybe it was for the best; maybe he needed another day to heal without the stress of a threat that she still had managed…

Although there may not be another day.

The secret may not last past the morning. The fleeting looks of fear in her copilot's eyes had been enough to tell her that.

Glenn had found her as soon as she had returned from the town. Plopping himself in her passenger seat the moment she had pushed her car into park, with brown eyes wide and hands wringing together, he had told her what he knew.

Walkers in the barn. "At least a dozen of them, Q!" he had exclaimed after shutting the passenger door and sealing them inside the privacy of the Subaru. The fear had been evident in his voice, and his gaze had flashed to the offending building every few seconds. The adrenaline from their recent run-in with the drug store walker still pumping through his young brain. "Are they fucking nuts?!"

The sailor had tried to calm him down before she spoke, a firm hand on his shoulder while she had ordered him to breathe. Slow, deep breaths. Panicking had never done anyone any good. The only way to deal with this was with composure. He had complied, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his self-control.

As his eyes had opened, greeting her with a levelheaded expression, she had told him. "I already knew. I've known since the first hours we arrived."

His eyes had threatened to let panic consume him as she had spoken, but the sailor had met them with a firm stare. A calm, silent, order. _Keep your head._ Slowly and patiently she had explained her reasoning to the young Korean, pausing for questions and diving into details of her plans for constant surveillance through their nights on the farm.

Quinn had never been so grateful for her sidekick's complete and unyielding trust in her.

Although he couldn't see the danger in betraying the farmer the way that she had when she had first come across the secret—his perception clouded by his growing affection for the man's daughter and his own general naivety—he had recognized that this was her expertise. Quinn had decided that the unpredictable reaction of a human was more dangerous then a dumb, brainless threat, and he trusted her.

"Carl was in their care, G… and then Daryl. I couldn't risk it. I couldn't afford to rely on the man's 'good will' alone."

But just because the kid had understood and accepted why she had kept the secret didn't mean that he was going to do the same. Was even capable of doing the same. Not only was Glenn the worst secret keeper in all of Georgia, but also he didn't see a betrayal of trust as being as dangerous as the sailor knew it could be… So the others would know soon. Likely by morning… and that could mean a fight like many of the survivors hadn't experienced. One that could have them thrown out into the unforgiving world again.

Man vs. man.

The light in the trees flickered on again. Rhythmically flashing against the backdrop of deep greens.

She wanted to tell the man now snoring softly at her side. Before mass hysteria was created. He would understand. He knew how hard it was to put faith a new face. Especially with your life on the line… Quinn let her eyes wander from the distant light to the looming form of the barn. She should have told him that first night. The hunter deserved to have her trust. Her absolute trust.

The sailor tightened her grip on the white sniper rife that lay across her lap as the soft clink of chains floated toward her. Barely audible over the sounds of sleep that filled her senses. His snoring had faded into calm, slow breaths.

The excitement on his face when she had told him about the candy wrapper still sat in her mind. Bright and youthful, such a contrast to the younger Dixon's general demeanor. The hope she had felt as she had plucked the bit of trash out of that tree reflected in those ice blue eyes. Acting as reassurance to her own doubting thoughts.

They were going to find her. To hell with the farm and its secrets, in the end that didn't matter, they were going to save a little girl and bring her home.

The light in the trees flashed again, pulling the sailor's attention away from the old graying wood of the barn. Flickering familiarly.

 _Wait._

Quinn shot to her feet. Careful not to jostle the sleeping hunter as she swung her rifle to her shoulder and scope to her eye. With a flick of a switch and a turn of a knob the small laser scope powered to night vision. This was her first watch at the farm using the smaller caliber weapon, as the larger was more effective as long as there was a bit of light, but it would seem it was the right choice.

Something was moving in that tree. Something was holding that flickering light.

 _Let me be this lucky._

* * *

The fucking sailor was gone again.

But at least she had warned him this time. Swooping off a horse like a wraith just as the sun had began to poke its face above the horizon, sending light streaming into his little tent, the sniper had mercilessly unzipped the door flap. The shadow of the animal pawing at the gravel outside had been enough to have his hair standing on end. Nearly giving him a heart attack. He couldn't remember everything she had rasped, the grogginess of sleep clouding the words, but he knew that she had told him she was going out again. Out to find Sophia. The hope had been evident in her quiet damaged voice.

Before she had left, on horseback galloping toward the tree line and the brilliant sunrise, she had traded weapons with him. His long machete for her silenced handgun. Leaving him with the words, "don't do anything stupid. But if you do, be ready to use this," echoing in his head.

So now he stood, shifting his weight between his feet as he watched his companions enjoy their breakfast, trying to decide if he should do the thing she had warned against. He could feel the metal of the silencer against his back, carefully hidden under his t-shirt… the sailor's safeguard. She had known he would do it anyway.

Glenn could feel the glare of the farmer's daughter burning the back of his head as he took an uneasy step forward toward the survivors. Clearing his throat to gain their attention, he made brief eye contact with Dale. The retiree gave him a nod. It was time. They had to know.

"Guys… the—the barn is full of walkers."

Chaos.

Wide eyes peered around at open mouths and frightened faces. Astounded gasps. There was a shuffle of feet as Shane threw himself out of his chair to go barreling down toward the barn. Fire in his eyes. Electric. Bordering insane. As the others watched, frozen for a moment.

Rising together, the survivors ran toward the barn. Trailing the deputy like flies chasing a torch. Unsure on how to proceed despite the man before them's furious confidence. Their eyes flicking to Rick. The source of calm leadership that ran amongst them, and searching for the other face they turned to in times like this. The freckled face with her unrelenting composure. _Where was Quinn?_

The question repeated in the sheriff's mind as he came skidding to a stop in the grass a yard or so behind his partner. _Where was Quinn._ He had a pretty good idea where… she had been determined to do another full day of searching after her find the day previous. But god did he need backup right now.

His honest eyes found the worried face of Glenn at his side, the kid met his gaze and his silent question was answered with a curt nod. She was gone. She couldn't help. Not yet. The chains on the barn rattled, jarring both men's attention back to the old wooden building. From within they could here the groans of the dead. Ragged and hungry.

The deputy gave a hard tug on the door, testing the strength of the chain, before he turned toward the semi-circle of survivors that had gathered at his back. His face contorted in a snarl as his eyes found his partner.

"This is fuckin' insane, man!" Shane boomed at Rick, causing the Lori who stood at the lean man's side to flinch. "We need to get outta here. We need to make for Benning now."

As the deputy continued, Lori dragged Carl away from the crowd back toward the farmhouse with the help of the delivery boy. Glenn with his eyes set on an angry looking Maggie as he retreated with the mother who had worry etched in her pale face.

Daryl filled the spot she had held at the sheriff's side, noticeably stiffening at the mention of Fort Benning despite his injuries.

Rick heard the hunter mutter, "we can't go there, man, c'mon ya know that," under his breathe to him and the sheriff gave him a discrete nod in return. _Yes I know…where are you Quinn._ Any attempt the lawman may have made to respond to his partner was halted by the half sob half shout of the short gray haired woman that pushed her way to the front of the group.

"Sophia is still out there!" she exclaimed, eyes sliding across the faces of her companions, "my daughter is out th—we…we can't leave without her." Carol's kind voice dissolved as Shane's harsh glare shifted to her, causing the sheriff and the hunter to quickly step in front of her as the hulking man began another tirade. Retreating behind two pair of protective shoulders, the distraught mother accepted Andrea's offer of a hug and allowed herself to be folded into the blonde's arms.

"I think it's about time to start considering realistic possibilities," the deputy started, eyes jumping between Carol and his partner with a look of disbelief at what he perceived to be naivety. "Me 'n Rick are experienced with missing children's cases…and after this many hours there's almost always only one result. And that was before there were fuckin' walkers everywhere. It's time to accept that Sophia is probably dead, and we've been wasting our damn time!" he finished, having aggressively approached his partner while speaking until the two men were nearly nose to nose.

In the midst of the group, Carol could be heard sobbing into Andrea's chest. Turned away from the cruel words even as the hunter jumped to her child's defense. His gravelly voice full of rage, "I jus' found 'er toy two days ago! The trail is still fuckin' there!" he stormed at the deputy, stepping between the large man and the sheriff, invading Shane's space with brows drawn in a feral glare.

The deputy raised his eyebrows and gave a sarcastic chuckle as he stared down the hunter, unable to be intimidated, as he had no doubt in his opinion. "Oh you found a fuckin' toy? Man, that don't mean shit. 'Sides if that kid woulda seen you come'n at her with blood all over your face and fuckin' ears around your neck she woulda ran the other direction. Right to her death," Shane mocked, chest puffed out as he glared at the hunter. A cruel smirk on his lips.

Daryl lunged.

His fist connecting with the deputy's cheek before the large man could swing back. In a moment Rick was on him, restraining the thrashing hunter and dragging him away from Shane as Lori stood before the deputy. The thin brunette woman had raced back down to the barn when she had heard the hunter's shouts.

Behind the shuffle, the barn door creaked menacingly, dead hands pushing against the barrier as they growled hungrily. Blackened fingers reaching through the crack in the middle…

As one the group of survivors backed away from the door. Putting a good thirty yards between themselves and the heavy chains that kept in the enemy. Argument forgotten for a moment by all by two.

Daryl continued to fight against Rick's hold, swearing colorfully at the deputy, "Where the fuck ya think Quinn is? Explorin' the fuckin' woods? She's on the fuckin' trail! We're gonna find the damn kid!" the hunter growled, staring daggers at the hulking man. He threw Rick's arms off of him and stormed away from the group, heading for the stables. A trail of curses floating in his wake.

"Rick, we need to do something about those fuckers in there!"

Shane's voice called the sheriff's attention back to the barn from where he had been watching the retreating figure of the hunter. _God, Quinn. Of all the days to leave me alone._ Rick raised his hands, signaling his acceptance as he approached his partner, voice calm he responded, "Let me go talk to Hershel, let me see if we can work someth—"

Shane cut him off, "Work something out? What the fuck 'r we gonna work out? He's keeping walkers in his barn!" the large man raged, gesturing a hand back at the offending building. His eyes darting from there to the old RV that held their stockpile of firearms.

"Let me talk to him! At least wait until Quinn is back… this isn't something we do without her," The sheriff responded, playing into his partner's recognition of Quinn's leadership. It was the three of them; even the deputy couldn't deny that, the three experienced uniforms. Not after the consequences Shane had faced in the past for not doing so… The sailor had to be involved in this decision.

The deputy conceded, raising his hands in surrender he muttered, "Fine. Fine, we'll give her a few hours. Go try and reason with the bastard." His words sending his partner jogging off toward the house with a grateful nod, ignorant to the way his eyes fell on the man's wife as soon as his back was turned. Grazing her body. The body that was his… and in danger from this bullshit. _This is the wrong call…the wrong fucking call…_

"Hershel doesn't see them the same way we do…" a new voice chimed into the mix. Drawing the attention of those still gathered. "He thinks they're sick. His family is in there…" The retiree explained, trying to make them see empathy.

"You knew didn't you? Of course you did… and did fuckin' nothing?"

* * *

Nellie was surprisingly nimble.

Weaving through close-knit trees and fallen logs with feline poise, an ode to the countless rides that the sailor was sure both Greene girls took through this forest. Ingraining its twists and turns in the horse's head so that she always found her way back.

Hershel hadn't been too eager to let the sniper borrow the notoriously skittish horse, not wanting to patch up another injury. Which was all he seemed to be doing since the survivors had arrived, he had complained to her. But there had been humor in his voice, and that had been the first sign of his caving… Caving to finally giving in when he had recognized the determination etched in her freckled face. She was close on the trail of the little girl. Really, truly close.

So with a bag of apples and a half smile, the white haired farmer had given his consent early that morning.

The sailor had the bag of fruit tied to the saddle, just out of reach of the horse's soft muzzle when she inevitably turned to try to investigate. Nellie knew the smell of an apple very well and did not want the treats to escape her. A smile broke across the freckled woman's face at the thought as she urged the animal forward a bit faster, worn leather reins in one hand and Glenn's long machete twirling in the other. Her carefully planned path forward mapped out in her head, down to the meter.

She was running with a theory. Well trotting…

A theory that a certain young girl had been listening much more closely to the stories that had bounced around her back at the quarry then the sailor had expected. Although the rapt attention gleaming in her young eyes should have been the first sign… There was one tale in particular; spun by the grizzled veteran that Quinn ached even to think about, that seemed all too familiar. _Let him be alive._

Peering through her scope the night before, she had seen movement in the tree below the flickering light that had plagued her for nights, and it had brought the story bubbling to the front of her mind. The similarities too obvious to be ignored.

He had been reclining in a faded green camp chair.

Likely stolen from the supplies of the two blonde sisters that he had so loved to infuriate. Dirty boots propped up on the bumper of her Subaru, near where she had perched in the open hatchback, an easy smile floating on his grey stubbled lips. The kids had been in a chair across from him, crammed together despite half-hearted warnings that they would break the thing. Their bare feet resting on Glenn's back, which had had a small grin floating on Sophia's little face. Her parents never let her go barefoot…

The young Korean had fallen asleep on a blanket at the center of the circle, exhausted from a trip to the highway with the sailor. His stone-like sleeping state so impressively deep that it had prompted the veteran's story. Merle, laughing his gruff laugh as the kids had prodded the sleeping delivery boy's back, had started off in the classic way of an older generation… "Now, when I was a kid…"

When he was a kid he had lived in fear, more so after his mother died… but he hadn't said that to the children. Just that he used to run away. Because sometimes a man's just got to be on his own for a while, ya know? This had been one of those times, just him and the forest. Nothing but a bag of jerky, some water, and a lighter to his name… not that he needed more then that. He was a Dixon. Self-made from the start… Quinn could still picture his proud smile as he spoke, and the way he had thrown a glance across the camp to where his pride and joy had sat. Made by him, ridden only by him. His bike.

"Now I knew that I wasn't gonna be allowed to be on my own forever…that someone was gonna come lookin' for me. Someone I didn't want to find me…" he had explained, the gravel in his voice softening when he had edged around details of abuse to get to the bulk of the story. Not wanting to see the intrigued smiles fade from the faces of little Carl and Sophia.

So, when the man—his father, Quinn knew it to be now—came after him, he had done the one thing a child is more suited for then a grown man. What small limbs and a light body are perfect for. Climbed. Climbed the tallest damned tree he could find. All the way to the top.

The height had terrified him at first, what if he fell asleep and plummeted to his death? Or what if he just leaned to far in either direction? But that's when an idea had dawned on him. Brilliant, maybe genius in his opinion, he had bragged with a toothy grin to the children. Drawing giggles from each and an amused snort from Quinn.

He had used his shoes to tether himself to the tree. Pulling the laces as far as they would go and then knotting them together to loop around the trunk, he tied himself to the tree. Around his malnourished stomach like a seatbelt, somewhat safe against any potential falls. If anything he would have been jolted awake by the pull on his body.

And so there he had stayed. High in a tree. Munching on jerky and looking out over miles and miles. A king for a moment. Untouchable.

"Did anyone ever find you?" Sophia's curious voice had asked, making the smile fall from the veteran's lips. Although he had tried valiantly to hide it.

He had been found eventually. After a few days… just enough time for his father to be furious enough to beat him near to death. Not that he had said that, but the SEAL remembered seeing the pain in his eyes. He had made a mistake. Been careless during his nights in the tree.

He had used his lighter. Not thinking of how the light would be visible to those on the ground or in the distance. He had just been enjoying burning mosquitos and playing with the fire… not thinking. His father had seen the light and found him, he had answered Sophia plainly. The story dying with those words.

Quinn pulled Nellie's reins softly, slowing the horse down to a walk as she noticed disturbances in the leaves on the path. As if feet had run this way. Run. Not shuffled like the dead.

She was near now where she had carefully estimated her target on the map…where the light had been flickering in the trees. Not far from the forgotten candy wrapper and the lost toy.

When the trail seems too preposterous, too unlikely, too damned good to be true, you better fucking follow it, the SEAL told herself. Over and over. A mantra if repeated enough must be true. The trail was there. She was a SEAL, trained to overcome the unlikely and the preposterous.

The trail was there.

A gurgling groan sounded from the sailor's right.

She forced herself not to tense, trying to radiate calm as she felt the horse beneath her start to fidget nervously. The sound had been too quiet to be very near, Quinn thought as she gently guided her mount toward the sound. Slowly. Carefully. Her grip on the machete in her callused hand tightening with each tentative step of the horse.

Another groan. Louder. Closer.

Quinn pulled Nellie to a halt, squinting through the trees to find the corpse she knew was close. She held the reins firm as she spotted it, assuring the animal below her that there was no reason to panic as they stayed perfectly still.

Blackened fingers reaching upward, scratching hungrily at the bark of a large tree, a walker stood. Ignorant to the two fresh meals that stood at it's back as it groaned with its grotesque mouth hanging open as it stared up into the branches above it. Dead eyes set on some unseen meat high in the tree. Drive to feed too strong for it to be distracted by slight sounds of shifting leaves.

Quinn let out a quiet rush of air, Nellie was not going to like the plan she had forming in her head. The SEAL was going to have to surrender the entire bag of apples after this. _Forgive me, my jumpy friend._ Pulling the horses reins so that the animal knew to be ready to run, Quinn began twirling her copilot's long blade menacingly. Eyes set on the unaware undead creature.

"Ya!" she shouted, leaning forward to absorb momentum as Nellie exploded forward. The animal's powerful legs rocketing them both into the air for a moment, sending them charging through the brush toward her target.

The corpse turned its gaping mouth toward the horse and rider just as the machete sang through the air for the kill stroke. Slicing the monster's head in half with a haunting whistle of metal and a spout of black blood. Showering Quinn and Nellie alike in a coat of black droplets.

The thing's body collapsed to the ground, useless, as the sailor pulled the now agitatedly whinnying animal's reins again to turn the horse back toward the tree. "Good girl," the sailor rasped softly as she ran the hand holding the bloodied machete over Nellie's neck, using the other to pull an apple from the bag on the saddle. The horse seemed to relax significantly once it had the fruit in its teeth.

Threat removed and horse momentarily appeased, the freckled sniper turned her attention to the tree. Its trunk scarred with bloody scratch marks of the hungry corpse, a creature that thankfully couldn't climb despite the reachable branches sprouting from the thick wood.

Adjusting her rifle across her back, Quinn pushed herself into a stand in the saddle stirrups, one hand firmly gripping the reins as she did so. _Stay calm Nellie…_ Squinting up into the high branches she searched carefully for what the desperate corpse had been reaching for. Barely letting herself hope.

Dirty socks.

Dirty socks on small feet hung from a branch high in the tough old tree. The sailor almost shouted with excitement when she saw them. Hanging above the world, just like the story. Dropping the rest of the apples to distract Nellie, and looping her rein's loosely around a low hanging branch, the sailor pulled herself from the stirrups into the branches of the tree.

"Sophia?" she rasped as she climbed upward, pulling herself up one branch at a time with practiced strength. "Sophia?" she repeated as she saw one of the socked feet kick slightly.

No response.

One more branch and the sailor could see the child's face from below, Quinn thought as she muscled herself up. Hands covered in sap and the blood of the dead. Feet planted and hand gripping a small near branch for support, the sailor peered up. Taking in the disheveled child.

A dirty hand shot to her mouth as the sailor contained a sob. She had to catch herself on the small branch as her knees threatened to buckle from the sheer emotion, her legs shaking as she balanced.

Her face was dirty. Hair a mess of twigs and leaves. Clothes tattered and coated in grime… but that wasn't what was most concerning. It was the way her head lolled to the side, and her eyes sat closed… Quinn would have thought she was dead if it wasn't for the slight rise and fall of her chest. _Sophia._

Very carefully, fighting to keep the shake of emotion from her hands, the sailor began to untie the tightly knotted shoelaces that held the little girl in place. The laces that she leaned heavily against, unconscious at the top of a tree. The only thing keeping Sophia from plummeting to her death…

 _Merle… Merle, you saved her._


	26. Chapter 26

Happy Holidays

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

"Mom?"

At the sound of the weak, light voice, the sailor let out a long sigh of relief. Air rushing out of her lungs as if she had been holding it in since she had first seen the pair of small dirty socks hanging high above her. Or even before. Since she had thrown herself over the highway barrier into the forest after the flash of a fleeing child. _Thank god. Thank everything._

"No, sweetheart, its Quinn. We'll be back to your mom soon…just stay with me. Stay awake." The sailor rasped to the little girl before her in the saddle of the steadily striding Nellie.

She had strapped the unconscious child to her front with her belt, the thick leather spanning from her shoulder to hip and tightly holding Sophia in place. Quinn had been fearful of the child falling from the saddle if they happened across danger and she was forced to push Nellie's pace. Also this way her hands were somewhat free to hold the reins or even wield the machete if necessary. Never had she been so thankful for the extra length in the strip of leather that had been her brothers.

Taking a hand from the reins as she frowned worriedly down at the little girl struggling to conscious, Quinn pulled a small canteen from the saddle and popped the cap off with her teeth. Water splashing with the slow movement of the horse below them, she brought the bottle to the girl's lips, whispering for Sophia to drink as much as she could.

The child obeyed, gratefully accepting the entire container with her eyes still firmly closed as she gulped. Uncaring to the liquid streaming over her dirty face. Cracked lips almost smiling beneath the canteen the sailor carefully held.

As the water ran out, last drops falling onto the side of the child's face as she turned to rest her head against the sailor's chest, Quinn let a small smile pull at her lips. If the girl could drink water of her own accord, rehydrate without an IV, then the chances of a full recovery were very good. The dryness of the child's lips and the weakness and frighteningly pale appearance of her body had had the sailor tremendously worried as she had pulled Sophia down from her perch. Her worry only intensifying when the girl hadn't been awoken by the jostling of being carried down from a tree, or even by the pressure on her feet as the sailor had slipped her shoes back on… _She's okay now though._ She popped the lid to the small bottle back on and stored it again, turning her full attention back to the leather reins gripped in one hand.

Back to getting Sophia quickly and safely to the farm. To food and sleep and shelter. And most importantly, to her mother.

Quinn nudged the animal below her, guiding her around a fallen tree as the sailor adjusted the small pack she had found in the tree with Sophia on her back. It rested beneath her rifle, adding to the multitude of things currently strapped to the sailor's body. Dark green canvas, well used with little tears and fraying seams. Likely the school bag of some young boy in another life… if colors like that were sold to certain genders as successfully as the world would have it. In the small, disheveled pack Quinn was certain she would find the keys to the child's survival, but the freckled woman hadn't taken the time to open it. Probably food, a lighter, maybe her second knife. Another mystery, one that could wait.

As she gently pulled Nellie's reins, guiding the horse away from where she knew the edge of the steep creek bed lie, questions as to where the kid had come across the bag spun through Quinn's head. Maybe an abandoned campsite. Maybe on the body of some twice-dead corpse. Maybe in the old house that the hunter had been sure a child had slept in…

Maybe they had only been a step behind the girl for days. A thought both frustrating and relieving. _We found her, Ace._

"Miss Quinn?" Sophia muttered, breaking through the sailor's thoughts. Her eyes still closed and her little hands holding tightly to the leather belt keeping her in place.

"Yes?" Quinn rasped softly, a smile tugging at her lips as she glanced down at the tired girl. Her blond hair was knotted and messy and her skin was covered in grime, but she was conscious and talking. A fact so relieving that the sailor couldn't help but smile.

"Is Mr. Merle gonna be with mom? I have a story for him," Sophia continued in a soft and tired tone, a smile on her face. Too exhausted to feel the way the sailor stiffened against her back at the sound of the Veteran's name, or to notice how Quinn's hand stroked comfortingly through her hair.

A sudden blast echoing through the woods saved the sailor from answering. Shotgun fire. Cooing calmly to the horse beneath her, Quinn looked cautiously around. Wary of what creature tended to flock to loud sounds.

Another shot fired, a flock of birds from a nearby tree exploding into the air with the disruption. Hair at the back of the sniper's neck began to rise as she pulled Nellie's reins with one hand and held Sophia close to her chest with the other, alerting the animal that they were going to need to move fast. Very fast.

"Ya!" the sailor rasped, flicking the reins and sending the animal powerfully forward toward the sound of another shotgun blast. Toward the farm.

* * *

"I swear I could see a million stars up there with my back to that tree. The whole galaxy before me lit up like a damn Christmas display, twinklin' and all. You would have loved it, little lady. None of this bullshit that's down on earth. No monsters. No pain. No cryin'. Just me, alone, on top of the world."

He rocked gently on the balls of his feet, voice low and soft as he cooed to the bundle cradled in his arms. His single hand trapped in her tiny fingers. "Although you're never gonna have ta run from yer daddy, 'cause he's a damn fine man. But we'll teach you to climb… show you the stars…" Merle trailed off as he finished his story, moving carefully toward the window as he did with his eyes on the black, light-flecked sky.

It was early, maybe 2 or 3 in the morning. He had heard the baby crying through the thin wall between the nursery and the room he shared with Leo. It had only been a few days since the baby's restless parents had decided to move her from their own room. Both hoping it may save them some sleep despite their constant worrying that kept them up regardless. Hoping to let them get the rest they craved, Merle had crept out to investigate the cries, the sleeping giant in the bed across from his not even twitching as he left.

Not that he blamed Leo for being in such a deep sleep; this was the first night that they had decided not to have a watch through the night. The two men had been trading off on the duty every day for weeks, the whole household was so distrustful of the people they found themselves amongst that it seemed necessary…But the previous day Wes had decided that the servicemen couldn't risk not being at full strength because of keeping watch. They needed to be ready for what the days may throw their way. They would double-lock the door and that would have to be enough for now, the older Lee had said. His mannerisms so reminiscent of his sister that neither of the men had argued. Not that they ever argued with Wes. The doctor was too clever to be crossed.

The baby had quieted quickly in the veteran's arms, smiling up at his scruffy face as he had told her his favorite story from his childhood. The same one he had told the kids back in the quarry all those weeks ago, a thought that had his eyes mistier than he cared to admit. He felt her little fingers release his hand, and he glanced down at her little mop of curly brown hair with a hopeful expression. Sure enough he found her little eyes closed, relaxed in sleep.

Very carefully, Merle padded back to the crib. Placing the sleeping brunette bundle back amongst her blankets with a smile spread wide across his face. The fact that something so small and delicate could exist in a world like his was … amazing. _Yer getting soft Merle…_

Voices drifting up from the sidewalk below, muffled by the closed window, drew the veteran away from the crib. Men's voices, maybe two or three. Cautiously Merle moved back to the window, careful to not jostle the curtains and draw attention to himself as he peered out at the poorly lit street.

Three men were walking quickly down the road; two of them pushing a large flatbed cart. Their voices had quieted, as if one of them had realized that they might draw attention to themselves. The cart held what appeared to be a pile of sandbags.

No. Not sandbags. Bodies.

Merle gasped audibly, his lone hand jumping up to cover his mouth as he took in the sight. They were pushing a cart of human bodies. Not even the bodies of the undead…these were people that he recognized. Men, women, and even a child. Newcomers that the Governor had just agreed to allow to stay earlier that day. _What the fuck._

In his surprise the veteran had bumped the curtain with his arm, drawing the attention of one of the men. His head flicked to the window, freezing Merle in place despite his training and better judgment. There eyes met for a moment, and a chilling smile crept across the face of the man on the street before Merle jerked away from the window out of sight.

Running his hand over the short buzz of gray that covered his scalp, the veteran let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He wondered if he should wake Leo and tell him… tell him something very wrong was happening in this town…

The veteran moved back toward his room, adrenaline coursing through his body, and the haunting image of the Governor's smile burned into his mind. _We have to get out._

* * *

Bang. Dark rotting blood sprang from the bullet wound like a fountain as the deputy grunted angrily and fired again.

His strong hands gripped tightly to the unfamiliar weapon he held as he watched another cloud of blood burst from the undead woman. The hunter took a step back from the scene; his crossbow shifting on his back as he did so, reminding him that he had no business with the shotgun the deputy had thrust at him moments ago. When he had emerged from the woods with a large bag of guns and the look of a man ready to kill…

The deputy had just moved from him to toss a gun at a less than willing T-dog when they had all heard the harsh growl of the undead. Daryl had been so shocked at the sight that met his eyes that he had been frozen in place. Like a god damn statue. Frozen as Hershel, Jimmy, and Rick _there own man l_ ed walkers before them like dogs out of the forest _. What the fuck._

Another bang sounded as Shane emptied round after round into the walker Rick held on a lead. The deputy ignoring his partner's pleas to stop. Ignoring Hershel's threats and the cries of his companions at his back.

A sob from behind him snapped the hunter out of his stupor, and throwing an arm out he barred Carol from rushing forward. The panic and shouting was making the short-haired woman distraught, pushing her over the edge that she had been so close to plummeting over all day, the hunter worried. He had taken her down by the water on the farmer's property earlier in the day, hoping to boost her spirits. Leading her to where he had found another patch of roses… Pale white and beautiful just like the first he had found. That was when she had told him; with unshed tears in her eyes, that she was losing faith that they would find her daughter. That she believed her beloved daughter dead… The hunter had nearly snapped with anger when she had told him, the frown that now graced his face had been set in that moment. But he couldn't snap. He couldn't afford to.

Especially not now that it seemed the rest of his companions had.

He should have seen this coming. Earlier when they had found out about the damn walkers in the barn… Daryl had known that the deputy couldn't just leave that alone. The hunter cracked his neck and brought his hand back to the gun in his grip, as Carol seemed to give up trying to reach Shane _thank god,_ and scanned the faces of his companions. Trying to think of a way to calm everyone the fuck down.

Shane was yelling again. Waving the shotgun he held around as he faced off with his partner. Where the fuck was Quinn, the hunter wondered angrily, edging carefully toward the deputy as he tried to decide if tackling the large man would be the best call. In his peripherals he was fairly sure he could see T shaking his head at him though. _Fuck._ Daryl needed the freckled sniper to back him up, to tell these idiots to stop folding to the whims of the hulking lawman. Glenn would listen to her, and T and Carol… who the hell was he kidding the whole fucking group would follow the sailor. She would know how to handle the barn, the farmer's weird habit of gathering walkers, even the woman he could now hear sniffling at his back while Shane fired another shot, this time into the heart of the walker. Of all the fucking times to traipse off into the woods…

The hunter glanced over his shoulder, looking for Glenn, as Shane shouted at Hershel about how a human couldn't survive those injuries, voice growing dangerously in volume even as the white-haired man appeared to slump in defeat. Daryl found the delivery boy's worried face and caught his gaze, both realizing that something had to be done very soon or the situation was going to erupt.

But it was too late. The large man spun away from the farmer, and the hunter stumbled back slightly as the deputy pushed angrily past him, storming through the crowd toward the barn, leaving Rick with his mouth agape as he restrained the bullet ridden but still active walker.

Daryl swore colorfully under his breath and pushed Carol behind him again as he turned to face the barn, just as Shane shot off the lock and jerked the old wooden door open. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ The hunter moved carefully down the path toward the barn, keeping Carol behind him as the rasps of the dead sounded hauntingly from the dark depths of the building.

Walkers slowly came stumbling out into the light, one at a time. Confused and hungry. Setting his feet in the dirt, the hunter raised the shotgun he'd been given to his broad shoulder, curses still streaming from his mouth as he began to fire upon the approaching dead. The grotesque smell of rancid flesh rose with the clouds of blood that sprung from the bullet impacts, the bang of guns adding to the hungry groans as T, Andrea, and Shane fell in line at the hunter's sides with weapons raised.

There were more pouring out of the doorway then he had thought the building could have had held. Although he hadn't really done a thorough investigation, he had been waiting for the sailor for that. They shuffled one after the other to their second death, to the rain of bullets, as the famer and his family and those of his companions too young or too emotional to wield weapons screamed and cried at his back. The hunter's eyes narrowed as he stared at the faces of the approaching bodies, what had Dale said that morning? These were the loved ones of the people that had let them stay on their land…to the famer and his family; they were murdering the people they loved. The muscles in his back tensed, his neck stiffened. This was a betrayal.

Soft pips of air coming from his side drew the hunter's attention away from the approaching dead, and he stopped to glance over. Confusion in his eyes. Expecting a freckled face, but finding instead a distraught looking Glenn with the sailor's suppressed handgun raised in his hands. The boy's large brown eyes were sad and the hunter could almost see his thought about this betrayal reflected in them. Somewhere behind them Daryl could hear Maggie crying. Yes, the hunter rationalized, the oldest Greene girl had believed them more about the horrors of the undead then her father had, but in a way she was still watching them kill her family.

Daryl forced his eyes away from the familiar weapon and raised his shotgun firmly back to his shoulder as the pips of suppressed shots sounded in his ear. She had known. The realization dawned on him.

Quinn had known before she had left, otherwise she would never have surrendered her handgun before going off alone into a situation where she could absolutely need the small weapon. She was smarter than that. Daryl popped his neck, trying to stem his frustration at the explosive situation they were all in. A body fell, head marred with shell as casings fell from his weapon. Where the fuck was the sailor.

The sound of footsteps coming through the field to their left drew the hunter's attention. Making his head snap from the barn even as the others continued their assault. _She didn't leave on foot you idiot._

"What have you done?!"

The sound of the retiree's voice echoed across the farm as he jogged toward them. His mouth hung open in shock as he came to a stop slightly behind the firing line, just over the hunter's shoulder. Daryl hadn't even realized the bearded man had been absent, although now that he knew, Shane appearing suddenly with a bag of guns seemed to make more sense. The retiree must have realized that the deputy was about to snap.

The hunter let his grip around the shotgun loosen, his arms falling to his side in shame under the barrage of scolds now falling from Dale's lips, and from the corner of his eye the gruff man sees Glenn do the same. Its not often that the hunter bows his head in shame, but both men felt guilt rise up in their throats like bile as they heard the strangled weeping of the youngest Greene daughter ringing through the air.

"We've betrayed them. Their hospitality, their care, their kindness…" Dale's voice trailed off as the hunter's eyes scanned across the corpses that lay dead in a scattered arch around the barn door, many of them the loved ones of the family that had housed them… even if they were monsters now it had not been their place to decide this fate. Not when they hadn't been a direct threat. Not when they hadn't really even attempted to negotiate.

Daryl grunted under his breath, unable even to swear. He shook his head, trying to clear his head, while Glenn gripped his shoulder firmly, using the hunter to keep himself on his feet as the adrenaline left his body. Replaced with the weight of shame.

From their side the two men saw the rest of their companions lower their weapons, eyes wide as they stared at something in the barn doorway. The deep sounds of the deputy swearing under his breath joined the quiet sobs of the group, audible due to the stilling of guns.

A high-pitched groan sounded from the dark interior of the barn. Small feet scuffled over dirt. Carefully stepping over the felled bodies of the undead. A child appeared in the doorway, knotted and dirty blond hair hanging over her face. Body and clothing so filthy that it all appeared a shade of brown. The hunter heard a yelp from behind him, followed by a wail that had goose bumps marring his skin, chilling his bones. Only a hurting mother could make that sound.

Carol attempted to rush toward the figure, arms outstretched. "Sophia!" She called between broken sobs.

Daryl caught her as gently as he could, restraining her with strong arms and muttering what he hoped were calming words into her back as he held her quaking form. The rest of the gathering froze, silently watching the unidentified child. All thinking the same sad thought. This was her. This was their Sophia.

Rick stepped forward through the firing line, gun raised for the first time at the farm. Head high and back straight. Ready to do what was necessary, even as Carol screamed her daughter's name over and over. The hunter forced the sobbing woman to turn from the little girl, gathering her head into his shoulder and hugging her close as the sheriff strode closer to the corpse child.

The sound of the gunshot was drowned in the thunder of hooves.

"I have her!" a hoarse voice roared as the group collectively whipped their heads toward the approaching horse. "Carol, I have her!"

Daryl sunk to his knees, awestruck, a weeping Carol clutched firmly in his arms as he did. "She's alive, look she's alive," he whispered to the woman he held to his chest, he could feel her quaking with each sob that escaped her mouth as she turned slowly and stared up at the approaching figures on horseback.

Nellie was pulled sharply to a halt in a cloud of dust before the group, hooves pawing agitatedly as her large eyes surveyed the situation she had sprinted into. Apparently displeased to be so near a pile of corpses. On the nervous horse's back Quinn held the reins steady in one hand, eyes stony as she took in the scene before her. Gaze sliding from the weapons clutched in her companions hands to the pile of bodies near the barn, to the small corpse of the blonde haired girl that lay before the now frozen sheriff. The sailor had seen the child emerge from the barn as she had pushed Nellie faster across the field. Had guessed the thoughts circling in her companions' minds… She tightened her free arm around the body of the little girl strapped before her in the saddle.

She was crying silently, the girl in the sailor's arms, young eyes darting around the frightening scene before her. So confused by what she saw, so entirely exhausted that she was still not entirely convinced that she hadn't died up in that tree… A soft call of "Mommy!" was the only word she could manage as she finally found Carol in the crowd.

The hunter released his grip on the shorthaired woman as his eyes met the sharp blue of the sailor's. Allowing the mother to leap to her feet and flash across the distance between her and the child that Quinn appeared to be unbuckling from her front, he slowly pushed himself to his feet. Shamelessly the hunter continued to stare in awe at the freckled woman as she dismounted the twitching horse with Sophia in her grasp, and he padded toward her as the little girl fell into Carol's arms. Mother and daughter collapsed to the earth in front of the hunter as they wept with relief and joy, but he didn't stop his movement when he reached them. Although a smile began to tug at his lips.

"Thank god. Thank god you found her." He muttered as pulled the sailor into his arms and buried his face in her hair. "I thought…Fuck, Quinn… I thought…" he trailed off, the image of the undead child falling to Rick's bullet burning in his mind as he felt the sniper's arms wrap around his neck to hold him to her.

The fields fell silent for a moment, as the living glanced cautiously at one another. Some with shame, some with sorrow. All silent. Save for the sounds of weeping.


	27. Chapter 27

Happy New Year.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OCs.

* * *

They would bury them in the morning.

With all the dignity they could muster.

Next to the neat stack of rocks that marked the first victim the survivors' arrival at the Greene farm had created. Not that the twice-dead corpses of the farmer's family were truly their victims…they had already been dead after all... But they had still robbed something from the family by shooting them down, remorselessly; they had taken their opportunity to mourn peacefully. To accept the truth that the survivors had been trying to warn them of since their arrival, without such a gruesome display.

The moon shone brightly on the tall, swaying grass that filled the farm's many fields. Creating a spider web of silvery shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own. A phenomenon missed by most, as the large white house and the little camp of tents at its side both sat still and quiet. Unaware of the way the pale, ghostly light reflected off gravel road, making it appear snow covered at first glance. Weighed down with the emotion of the previous evening.

She did her best not to disturb the tranquil scene. Enjoying the way the shadows flicking across the field resembled shallow water, each blade of grass creating a ripple in a lazy current. Enjoying the peace. Her feet stopped their pacing for a moment, black boots coming to a halt in the snow-white gravel that had the back of her mind swirling through memories. Of blood and snow and fire.

Against her best efforts, the pile of corpses strewn before the barn door eventually drew her eye, as it had been throughout her pacing, drawing her mind away from her past. Away from the beauty of the night. Back to the present problem. Quinn sighed, dragging a hand through her loose hair as her eyes flicked from the corpses to the farmhouse, and finally to the little collection of tents that lined the RV. The RV that at that moment held the sleeping figures of a girl and her mother, reunited at last.

What an unnecessarily explosive situation she had returned Sophia to, the sailor thought as she returned to pacing. Kicking gravel with frustration as her brows furrowed, the events of the evening flashed through her head. There had been a silence, heavy and smothering, while Carol had held Sophia to her chest, the eyes of their companions staring on in awe while the farm residents had in turn stared at their twice-dead loved ones. Tears streaming down the faces of many.

The hunter had held Quinn to his chest; she had felt his breath warming her hair while she had cradled his head in her hands. Trying to comfort, to reassure him that she really had found the girl. That he had not just watched her die. But the weighted silence had soon turned to screaming.

Out of the corner of her eye Quinn had seen Beth break free of her sister's grip, and tracked young blonde as she had dashed down to the body of her mother. Seconds later, as the youngest Greene had held her mother in her pale arms, the corpse had attacked. Gurgling as its gnashing teeth had gone for the girl's flesh, drawing the scream that had snapped everyone back on the alert.

The sailor had sprinted towards the scene, dragging the hunter with her with a handful of his flannel shirt. Maggie and Glenn had done the same, both springing to their feet with yells for Beth to run. But the corpse had held her by the arm, stopping her from running and causing her screams to grow in desperation. Until an axe had driven roughly through the head of the corpse.

Andrea had reached her first, and had rained down blow after blow into the skull of what had once been the farmer's wife. Showering Beth in her mother's blood. The onslaught had allowed Maggie and Glenn to drag the pale blond away, but she had thrashed and screamed as tears had streamed down her face.

Quinn had felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she had watched the face of the young pale blonde. One daughter returned to a mother, only to have another lose a mother. The sailor had shoved Daryl at Andrea as they had skidded into the scene, rasping, "Stop her, that thing is dead," as had turned and jogged to her sidekick's side, the hunter's grunted response echoing behind her.

The young Korean had been stopped on the path between the barn and the house, feet frozen as he had watched Maggie and Patricia practically carry Beth into the house. Unaware of the sailor moving toward him until she had folded him into her arms. He had rested his head on her shoulder, and muttered something into her shoulder that sounded like, "Sorry," as she had ruffled his hair affectionately.

"Don't you dare think this is your fault," Quinn had murmured, brows furrowing as she had squeezed him tightly before pulling away to catch his eyes. "You have to follow her, she's going to need you," she had continued, watching his eyes grow determined as he had nodded his response. With a final squeeze, she had released him, sending him padding after the Greene daughters with pride swelling in her chest at how much her sidekick had matured as she had stared down at the suppressed handgun he had left in her hand. _Don't be stupid, but if you do…use this._

The crowd had mostly dissipated when Quinn had turned back toward the barn. Her companions had retreated form the gruesome scene back to the campground, and had gathered around the makeshift kitchen area to discuss the next move. Carol and Sophia had disappeared into the RV with the hunter, where the mother had likely begun administering care for dehydration and the various scrapes on her daughter's body. Daryl keeping guard from the driver's seat, the glare on his face keeping their companions from bothering the pair. Only Shane, Rick and Hershel had remained on the path to the barn.

Quinn had only heard the last snippet of Hershel's harsh words before the farmer had stormed past her back toward his house, his exit saving him from hearing Shane's snort of annoyance.

"…I don't care, I want you all off my land by tomorrow," the white haired man had growled.

The words had her gaping at Rick, who had met her eyes with a similar look before he had sprung into a jog after the farmer. His hand catching her arm and pulling her with him as he had passed, "C'mon he'll listen to you," the lean man had murmured as she had fallen into a jog at his side with a nod. Both had ignored the hulking man slowly following them, and the stream of curses that had fallen from his mouth.

They had managed to catch Hershel on his porch; the sailor had stilled his attempt at opening the front door with a light grip on his shoulder. When he had turned and found her freckled face instead of the deputy at the side of the sheriff, his expression had softened and he had paused to listen. Rick let the sailor do all the talking, hovering over her shoulder for support as she had pleaded with the white haired man.

Quinn had never been fond of pleading. But she had swallowed her pride for the sake of the little girl curled inside the RV while she had faced the farmer. Sophia needed some time to heal, to regain strength, before they could face the road again. When Hershel had still seemed hesitant to let them stay, too angered from the actions of the day. Too hurt. Too beaten down with emotion. Rick had finally chimed in to her pleading. Admitting his wife's pregnancy to the farmer, begging for the child's sake.

The sailor had dropped a comforting shoulder on the sheriff's shoulder as he had explained the horrors that could happen to a pregnant woman outside the sanctuary of the farm. That had been what had finally softened Hershel, he had agreed to let them stay, although remaining firm in his argument that it couldn't be for long. With that, Quinn and Rick had let him turn to enter his home, his last words echoing in their ears as proof that their was still definitely a problem to be resolved: "Fine, I will allow a bit more time for you all. But not him. I want that animal off my land."

His eyes had focused on something behind them as he had spoken, and both were certain whom he had meant without glancing over their shoulders. The deputy was not welcome.

Once the farmer had disappeared into his house, the door firmly shut behind him, Quinn had turned to the sheriff and had gestured for him to follow her to the corner of the porch. "What the fuck happened today, man?" she had questioned, one freckled hand dragging across her face in frustration.

The sheriff had leaned against the porch railing at her side, his head in his hands as he muttered his reply, "Nothing good."

Slowly, tiredly, the lean man had talked her through the events of a day where nothing had seemed to go right. He explained how he had talked down his partner in the morning, convinced the large man to wait to deal with the barn problem until the sailor returned from her search. But, Rick had sighed as he paused to glance up and find his partner amongst their companions, he had known that the large man was on edge and should have assumed that he was going to snap. That something like this was going to happen… "He was so angry, I should have stopped him…" his voice had trailed off for a moment as his eyes had shifted to her face.

Quinn had dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder and nodded for him to continue, wordlessly telling him she blamed him for nothing. The sheriff carried too much guilt with him. This wasn't his mess it was their mess. With a deep breath he had told her about how the walkers had actually got into the barn, about his trip to the swamp with a dog-catchers noose. His voice quieting as the sailor's eyes had grown in shock. Sure she had known they were in the barn…but she hadn't known they were still adding to the collection. Hershel hadn't mentioned that when she had confronted him that first day.

When the sheriff had reached the point in his story where Shane had begun to open fire on the walker he had on a lead, the deputy himself had burst into their presence. He had snorted, humorlessly as he had strode up the porch steps and over to where they had leaned against the rail. "The fuck you trying to do?" he had boomed, his arms crossing in front of his chest, "Ya can't reason with that man, he's fuckin' crazy!"

The sheriff and sailor had turned to face him, both rising to their full height as the hulking man glared at them, further angered words bubbling from his chest. He had started ranting about the ridiculousness of their attempts at diplomacy, they didn't need to beg as this old man's feet he had raged. "Besides, there ain't no way he can kick us off the farm. There are more of us, and that's just a damn fact." The deputy's voice had been dangerous as he had uttered that statement, and his glare had floated from the two people before him to the door of the house at his left.

Disgust had flashed across the sheriff's face at his partner's words, and he had rebutted as he had felt the sailor's body tense beside him like an animal readying for attack, "We aren't going to force them to let us stay. Jesus, man. Where is your decency? You can't just muscle your way through this shit, Shane! We have to talk to them, to apologize for all of this!" the lean man had spat, eyes narrowing as he had glared angrily at his partner.

Shane had laughed in response, drawing a feral growl from the sailor as she had took an aggressive step forward, to edge protectively before the sheriff. However the deputy's attention had remained on his partner, and as the rumble of laugher had died in his throat he had jabbed Rick in the chest with a thick finger, stating, "We ain't got shit to apologize for. I made a decision that you couldn't. One that was necessary. You can't fuckin' hesitate when our people are in danger! And you did, so I made the call. Us or them," his voice had been low and dangerous, as he had finished nose to nose with Rick. Both angrily glaring at one another.

After a moment of electric silence had crackled between the two lawmen, Quinn had placed a freckled hand on Shane's chest and pushed him back slightly, drawing his eyes. "They weren't in danger," she had growled up at the hulking man, eyes narrowed and stone cold. "They weren't in danger until you started fucking shooting things. That panic was absolutely unnecessary."

He had tried to scoff off the comment as he had with his partner's, but the sailor's low calm tone had killed the act before it reached his throat. He may have been able too find the flaws in Rick's decisions, the weaknesses and the examples of softness he had always known the lean man to show. But there had been no softness, no fleck of warmth in the glare the sailor had pinned him with in that moment on the porch.

To mask his discomfort with being scolded by the SEAL, the deputy had stepped back from her, spitting, "How could you know? Those things coulda broken out while you were out in the fuckin' woods yesterday! You coulda come back to a fuckin slaughter! I can't protect all these damn soft people by myself." he had paused for a moment, his eyes wide and somewhat glazed as if he had been descending into momentary insanity. They had flicked to his partner before he spoke again, while the lean man had glared back at him from where the sailor had held him back with an arm, "God, I had hoped that was her, man. I wanted it to be her that you killed," he had growled, spittle flying in his partner's face. "Then we could stop wasting all this damn manpower searchin' for a useless kid. One less weak lin-"

The last word had been cut short when a first had connected with the deputy's jaw. With a slight stumble backward, the hulking man had swung back, trying to connect with the freckled face, but missing as she had nimbly dodged and bounced away. Before she had landed an uppercut to his abdomen, a snarl forming on her face. The two had ended up in the gravel in front of the house, yells to stop had echoed in their ears as they had circled each other, throwing hit after hit with practiced form. Like two primetime boxers unwilling to fold. Even as blood had trickled down their knuckles.

After what had felt like hours to the frightened and worried onlookers, the deputy had finally snapped, breaking from their boxing form with a enraged shout when the sailor had landed a jab that shattered his nose in a shower of blood. He had tackled her bodily, his blind rage and male pride making him unwilling to be defeated. But the tactic had been sloppy, predictable to a SEAL who was trained to deal with large enraged enemies. Men like Shane were simple. Simple to anger, simple to distract, simple to defeat. The SEAL's game of dancing around his blows had paid off.

Before they had hit the ground, Quinn had wriggled free of the deputy's grip and flipped the advantage. So that as they landed, his head had been trapped between her thighs, the blood-flow to his brain cut off in a sleeper hold as he had tried to thrash her off. Both back down in the gravel. It wasn't until the large man's movement's had slowed, and he had approached unconsciousness as the sailor had glared down at him, that two people from the crowd of their companions had sprung forth to break up the fight.

Daryl had looped his arms under the sailor's, and dragged her up until her legs unraveled from the deputy's neck. Muttering something like, "Its about fuckin' time," into her hair as he had done so. He had kept his arms firmly around her as Andrea had rushed to Shane's side and helped the large man stagger to his feet, keenly aware that the sailor had still been tensed and ready to strike out again.

The hunter had only released his grip when the deputy had begun to stalk away toward his tent. A move that proved to be a mistake as Andrea had stormed over to the woman he had just unhanded and pushed her forcefully, spitting, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" as she had pushed the freckled woman's muscled form again roughly, unsatisfied with how little she could move the SEAL despite her anger.

Daryl had been about to speak, to tell the blonde to fuck off and drag the sailor away, when there had been the distinctive crack of a nose breaking. Andrea had dropped like a stone to the ground, unconscious.

"Anyone else?"

Her rasp had been dangerous, immediately it had dissipated the rest of the onlookers. Sending them scattering with eyes averted as the sailor had carelessly wiped the blood from her hand on her shirt. The dust still settling at her feet from the bought with Shane

"C'mon. Ain't no one else to fight, Lee," the hunter had growled as he had beckoned for her to follow him away from the house. They had paced down to the barn, down to the scattering of corpses.

They had stood in silence for a time, each in their own thoughts as their eyes had drifted over the bodies of the dead. Quinn had stood over the corpse of the little girl the group had believed to be Sophia, nightmare scenarios spinning through her head as she had examined the single bullet wound to the thing's skull. She had thought of the strength that Rick must have had to have taken that shot, and how thankful she was to have the lean man at her side. How rare a breed he was.

The hunter's voice had drawn her from her thoughts, "You knew, didn't you?" he had muttered, something in his gravelly voice causing her to furrow her brows in concern when she had met his eyes. "Glenn had yer weapon. You musta known before you left…" he had trailed off, an unknown emotion flicking across his face.

She had nodded. Eyes apologetic—willing him to understand—as she had tried to read that unknown still floating in his ice blue gaze while waiting for him to speak. He never did. The hunter had stiffened, a coldness radiating off him as he had taken his eyes from her. Without a second look he had padded away from her, back toward the house, leaving the sailor standing alone amongst the dead. She had not attempted to follow.

Boots kicking at the ghostly white gravel, the sailor stopped her pacing again for a moment. Eyes on the dark tent that held the man that had walked away from her hours ago. He had moved it at some point after their parting, far away from her vehicle… far away from anyone. It was set up under a tree about fifty meters from the house, the hunter's chopper parked at its side, marking the man's attempt at complete withdrawal.

Quinn sighed and forced her eyes away from it. _What have you done now, Lee._ She hoped if she allowed the gruff man his space for a time that he would allow her to explain herself eventually…that he would understand. She had to do what was best for the group. She had to do her job. The sailor wasn't used to this sort of behavior…she was used to SEALs, sailors, men that trusted her decisions because they knew her qualifications. Knew she earned them. _Civilians._

The sailor adjusted her smaller rifle across her back, and turned her attention to the fields once again. She briefly thought about going to sleep, as the walkers in the barn were dead and no longer required her constant watch, but her mind whirred too actively for that thought to gain much ground. The silver shadows still danced across the tall grass, so enchanting that the freckled woman could almost forget the ache in her hands and the frustration of the day. Almost. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, feeling the cuts that spattered her knuckles sting as she did. A reminder of civilian stupidity.

How she missed her boys. Her team. She could practically hear Leo's rumbling laughter echoing in her ears as she watched the shifting currents in the moon lit grass, the Samoan always got a kick out of large men trying to fight her. So much like her brother, must have been why the two assholes got along so well… the sailor thought with a sharp pang to her chest as she thought of the two laughing together. _Wes…_

Movement in the distance caught her eye. Forcing her out of her memories. Shadows moving slowly toward the farm from the edge of the woods. Too slowly to be alive. _Of all the times. Fuck._

Quinn swung her rifle from her back, jamming her scope to her eye and clicking the night setting on with a flick of her wrist. How could she have forgotten how horribly loud the gunfire had been? If she had heard it deep in the woods while retrieving Sophia, there was no telling what else had heard the reverberating booms.

Three. Four…Six corpses were stumbling through the tall grass. The sailor could clearly see their dead eyes through her scope, their gaping mouths hanging open hungrily. At least it was only six. It could have been a herd… Flicking the scope power off again—she really didn't want to have to replace the batteries too often—the sailor swung the weapon back over her shoulder and drew her suppressed handgun. Thankful that Glenn had returned it to her reloaded.

With practiced silent steps the sailor moved quickly toward the shuffling group. The only of her companions in somewhat imminent danger was the hunter, as his tent was furthest from the main group and closest to the looming threat. Quinn considered waking him for a moment as she sped past his camp, but decided against it.

She waited until they caught her scent, until they turned towards her with reaching hands and gaping mouths from only a few meters away, before she fired. Wanting to be sure her shots flew true in the low light. Six pips of air recoiled from her hand as she quickly dropped the bodies. Each falling with a muffled thud into the silvery shadows of the grass.

Carefully she crept forward to inspect them, to be sure of their second death. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw them up close, all with neat bullet wounds in their foreheads set beneath military covers. Marines. Six Marines in full uniform. Each with a bite mark marring part of their body, all disfigured with injury and rotting flesh. A freckled hand dragged across her face as she knelt down by the one whose uniform bore a silver maple leaf, the leader. What were the odds of a whole squad of Marines being turned…the SEALs imagination whirled through scenarios increasingly unlikely. _Group suicide?_

Deciding to wait for better light and the sheriff's help to investigate further, the sailor stood and scanned the field for further movement. When none caught her eye she glanced toward the house and cracked her neck, it seemed like her watch was still definitely necessary. In a flash she was padding across grass and gravel, past where the hunter slept and then the RV, until she was scaling the house. Climbing her usual route to the roof.

Settled on her stomach with her scope to her eye, the sailor allowed her mind to wander again. As she scanned the outskirts of the property for movement she thought of her own men, her own squad, shuffling through the wilderness after death. Guarding one another in death as they did in life. It seemed a poetic fate.

Beneath her, muffled in blankets and her sister's arms, Quinn could hear Beth's violent sobs. Each stifled cry tensing the sailor's arms as she gripped her rifle.

No. Poetic was the wrong word.


	28. Chapter 28

Just a warning my updates may start being sporadic again…gotta do a bunch of research 'n shit to write this thesis thing…but I'm gonna do my best.

Disclaimer: Quinn and fam are mine, alas the rest are not.

* * *

Another one. _Damn._

With a harsh pip of air, the sailor's rife recoiled into her shoulder. The movement miniscule and unnoticed as she continued to squint through her scope, watching a body drop in the odd green light of the night setting. That was the third one since she had taken up her familiar post on the dark shingles of the roof; three…after the six she had killed on the ground…was enough to have her worried. Enough to have her muscles tensing as she continued to scan the border of the distant field where they kept appearing, while the pros and cons of waking some back-up whirred through her mind.

Waking her companions could cause panic, and panic was noisy…she couldn't afford noisy. Noisy had caused this problem in the first place. But, the sailor could use a man or two at her back if she ended up having to go down in the field to investigate, as there should be a fence blocking the way to the farmland…and if this many corpses were finding their way in then the fence line must have been damaged.

Quinn cracked her neck and shifted her legs slightly as they stretched out behind her, trying to release the tension building with her worry. She couldn't afford to have her aim jeopardized. Her movements jostled the worn blue wool of her scarf away from her face, exposing her nose and lips to the crisp night air. It hit her like a splash of water, jolting her tired eyes awake as she pressed one socket more firmly to her scope.

More movement.

"Well fuck me…" the sailor rasped as she quickly aimed and tapped her trigger twice. Two more slow-shuffling corpses falling milliseconds after her weapon again rocked into her shoulder. Their bodies throwing shadows across the edge of the field as they collapsed.

After another quick scan through her night-scope for more intruders, Quinn pushed herself off of her stomach and slung her rifle across her back, making for the edge of the house. Her hands found the gutters and windowsills of her usual route down from the roof, and in a moment she was padding over dewy gravel toward the gathering of her companions tents.

It was time to call for back up.

There were four of her companions who knew explicitly what her variety of whistle-calls meant. The four men that had watched her back in the death maze of Atlanta, and had run miles and miles in her wake back to the quarry camp. The sniper had taught them on the drive to the city, before they had known what sort of danger they would face, so they would have a way of communicating that would draw less attention then shouting or gunfire. Just in case.

Although…one of her companions hadn't needed to be taught. She had known after his first response to her chirp-whistle that he would be able to interpret her calls easily. A good hunter could read the calls of wildlife as simply as speaking, and she had known her language of whistles would prove to be no more difficult. Because he wasn't good, he was exceptional.

The sailor's gaze floated through the darkness to the tent of the man circling her thoughts, still in the distant spot he had placed it the evening before. She wanted him at her side in this mess of a situation, a man that could read her thoughts as well as he could read her calls was invaluable. If only she had acted on that realization the first night at the farm, if only she had told him like she had so wanted to do… _No, this was right. What ever he thinks now, he'll know this was right._

With a sigh, Quinn flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder; she knew that she would be able to win back his trust eventually. That he would understand eventually… _Eventually isn't soon enough._ Forcing her eyes away from the dark canvas of the younger Dixon's tent, the sailor placed two freckled fingers in her mouth and began to whistle. Short, shrill bursts. Like the siren on an ambulance.

The signals were a combination of common hunting whistles and SEAL communication standards, which she and her squadron of frogmen had concocted out of necessity throughout their many missions. A siren whistle, in most situations, meant imminent danger.

Immediately she heard shuffling within tents, and the sounds of tired men dragging themselves into consciousness. Rick and T, if she wasn't mistaken.

As she waited for backup to appear from their canvas abodes, Quinn swung her rifle to her shoulder and carefully scanned the property for movement through her scope. No movement caught her eye, nothing shuffling or groaning or reaching towards her with dead hands. Perhaps they would be able to find the break in the fence line without more interruption from the dead.

Two sets of footsteps sounded at her back, both somewhat dragging with the men's half-awake state. Lowering her rifle to hang from one hand at her side, the sailor turned to them and took in their faces of sleepy concern. She found herself smiling slightly at the sight of them, Rick and T-dog, both ready to fight with weapons gripped in their hands, both ready to have her back.

"We have a problem," she rasped, gesturing with her head to the field behind her, continuing, "Walkers are getting in the field, musta been drawn to the gunfire. I think I've dropped them all for now, but we need to check the fence line."

Both men's eyes grew with panic at her mention of the dead, and nodded along with her plan. Shocked that they had been so near to danger without realizing it…that they hadn't even thought about the noise of the day and what it could attract. Each silently thanking the universe that someone had been on watch. Everyone had been so emotionally exhausted from the day that they hadn't given it a thought…

Quinn led them down to the field were she had killed the corpses, urging them to stay quiet and cautious as they moved quickly across the dirt and gravel with knives raised. They couldn't risk unsuppressed gunfire when there could still be more dead lurking on the borders of the fence, and the sailor knew she needed to start being a bit more conservative with her ammunition. If she could kill with her knife, then she needed to start making that her first option.

The familiar weight of the blade in her hand made her twitch for its twin, she would have to ask little Sophia if she still had the weapon in the morning…how she missed the symmetry.

The trio approached the chopper and the dark tent that held the hunter, set up too close to the field for the sailor's comfort, and as they padded by the sheriff made to stop to wake the man. Only stopping when Quinn dropped a hand on his shoulder and softly rasped, "Leave him."

He had heard her call, she was certain. And he had chosen not to rise… The sailor cracked her neck with a jerk of her head, urging her companions on toward the tall grass.

Rick made no argument, falling into step at her shoulder again and following her past the campsite with a muttered, "Whatever happened, it will pass," in his comforting southern drawl. With T nodding his agreement from her other shoulder as they began to wade through the tall grass of the corpse-ridden field.

The creak of door hinges and crunching of feet running on gravel stopped the trio's progress for a moment, causing them to swivel to face the sound with weapons raised cautiously. Only to lower them when they recognized the figure speeding through the night.

"Q! What happened? What's wrong?" came Glenn's worried voice as he came skidding to a halt before the sailor, his machete clutched nervously in his hand as his brown eyes sat wide with panic.

T's firm grip on the kid's shoulder seemed to ease him out of his panicked state as Quinn quietly rasped him through their situation. Explaining that she had dropped almost a dozen walkers in this field over the course of the night as she walked them down toward the squad of Marine corpses she had first encountered.

With weapons raised and voices quieted again, the group poked at the corpses of the service men. Stripping the bodies of ammunition and firearms, which they stuck in their pockets or waistbands, and whispering with excitement when Glenn discovered a pair of working radios amongst the dead. Four hand guns and a fair amount of ammunition later, the sailor led the men deeper into the field to examine the remaining three of her targets, close to where there should be a fence preventing this sort of intrusion.

Five more Marines.

She hadn't been able to see their uniforms from her post on the roof, but now as she circled the bodies, watching Rick tug a third working radio from one man's belt, she could clearly see the globe and anchor. "We should check the highway for a military transport tomorrow," Quinn rasped over her shoulder, moving away from the bodies toward a collapsed section of wooden fence that must have been these monsters' entry point. "This many corpses in uniform couldn't have wandered that far in a pack…" she continued when she saw confusion flash across her sidekick's face.

The sheriff nodded his agreement at her words, his honest eyes focused on a pile of scrap-wood a few meters away as he allowed T to pull him to his feet. He'd been crouched examining the bullet wound in one of the corpse's forehead, squinting in the darkness at the symmetry of its placement. Slightly shocked at the alarming accuracy of his female companion. "Good call, for now though we should pile some a that wood in the way of this gap," he stated, striding toward the scrap pile with conviction with the others jogging after him.

The clear night air was softening into the dark grey of early morning as they worked, the hour maybe 3 or 4 in the morning. Birds waking and chirping in the nearby tree line provided a soundtrack while they carried planks of half-rotten wood to attempt to fix the fence line as best they could.

At some point T remembered that he had seen a spool of wire in Dale's supplies, which would give the posts some stability besides just relying on gravity, and the large man padded off toward the RV. His heavy footsteps sending little clouds of dew bursting into the air as he moved through the tall grass. Leaving his trio of companions standing and admiring their feet of minimal engineering as they waited for his return.

They were in for another long day, the sailor thought as she glanced with half-closed eyes between the three twice-dead bodies and the old wooden fence they had semi-repaired. Adjusting her scarf to once again cover her nose, she leaned against Rick's shoulder as the lean man moved to stand beside her. Quinn allowed him to take some of the weight off her shoulders as she began to feel the exhaustion of the night and previous day beat down on her, a large yawn hidden beneath her scarf. Before them, Glenn sat in the grass with his head in his hands, equally exhausted and uncaring that dew may sink through his pants.

"Maybe you should get some sleep, I know you haven't since what…almost two days ago?" Rick muttered quietly, voice only for the sailor, "We're gonna have to deal with Hershel's family later, you're-" a hand over his mouth stopped him from continuing.

The sailor kept her hand over the lean man's mouth as she tensed, like a coiled spring, ready to act as she strained to hear the disturbance again. Rustling grass…or muffled groans… At her feet, Glenn had sensed her change in demeanor and was cautiously glancing around to try and find what had caught her attention. "There!" she rasped, dropping her hand from the sheriff's mouth to point down the fence line. In a flash she had drawn her knife from her back and was sprinting toward the sound, her companions quick to spring to her heels.

Without questioning Rick and Glenn followed her as the sailor suddenly vaulted over the fence, rifle jostling across her back, and continued her path on the edge of the tree line. Now she could see them as well as hear them, and the gasp at her back and the whistle of the Sheriff twirling his blade told her that her boys had finally noticed them too.

Four more fully uniformed corpses had appeared out of the trees. Growling hungrily and shuffling towards prey that was now barreling towards their reaching hands.

With a snarl that rivaled that of the rotting corpses before her, Quinn attacked. Knife flashing through the skull of the closest Marine with a cloud of black blood, while Glenn and Rick came skidding into the scene at her back and jumped into the fray. Each swinging their own blades mercilessly down on the skulls of the dead.

It was over as quickly as it had begun.

The trio stood panting with blades dripping black blood over the fallen dead, their hands sticking to their weapons from the fight and sweat beading at their brows. They stayed quiet, frozen for a moment, as they focused their ears on their surroundings. Listening for the sound of more groans and gnashing of teeth. For rustling leaves and shuffling feet. But none came.

"Fuck I need a nap…"Quinn rasped to Glenn, wiping the blood from her hands onto her pants as they turned to follow the sheriff back toward where they'd been repairing the fence line. The lean man had started to jog back when he'd heard T's concerned shout.

The kid gave a quiet chuckle in response and throwing an arm around her shoulders he forced her pace a bit faster as they approached their companions. "Better hurry then, Q. We only have a few hours before chaos ensues again," he murmured while giving her tired body a squeeze, his big brown eyes on the beginnings of a sunrise peaking out at the horizon.

* * *

The sun sat high in the sky by the time of the funerals. Beating down on the necks of those gathered in the typical southern fashion, but its heat went unnoticed by most. Too deep was the pain. Too raw the loss.

The survivors had risen early to help dig graves and move bodies. Working mostly in silence as the weight of the Greene family's grief pressed their bickering and their pride to the backs of their minds for a moment. The only two to not assist were little Sophia and her mother, whom all decided that it would be best if they stayed in the RV and rested.

Quinn had managed 4 hours of sleep before the wrap of knuckles on the window of her Subaru had woken her. 4 hours of restless sleep, where thoughts of bloodstained snow and the lifeless bodies of her closest friends had plagued her ceaselessly. But at least she had slept.

Glenn had been the one to rouse her, and the two had worked side-by-side digging graves throughout the morning. Finding comfort in each other's silent presence as they had dug deeper and deeper into the red clay beneath the farmer's grassy fields.

To her surprise, the deputy and his blonde shadow had left her alone throughout the process. Both doing their own jobs in relative quiet—neither could ever truly stop snide comments from falling from their mouths—and settling mostly for disapproving glares at both the sailor and the sheriff. They seemed to have realized that they were all on their last life with the farmer and his family, and were making an effort to reign in their opinions, if only for a few hours.

In contrast, the sailor was not surprised by the behavior of the hunter. She knew him. Knew the way he thought and the way he would act. But it still didn't sit well in her gut when the gruff man blatantly separated himself from the group and avoided her. To the SEAL it seemed childish, or even foolish…but she knew the life he had led. Recognized the coping mechanisms. It was not her place to judge, only hope that eventually he would let her back in. He spent the time before the funeral digging alone, refusing help with a fierce glare at any who offered.

Standing at the funeral gathering, hands clasped respectfully behind her back, the sailor forced her mind away from the sleeveless man that stood somewhere behind her. Whose eyes she could feel burning the back of her neck. Now was not the time to ponder her missteps with him, not when there were so many other issues bubbling to the surface.

Bowing her head to focus on the mounds of earth that marked the dead, the sailor's thoughts turned to the walkers she had killed in the night. Rick had insisted they don't bring up the new threat until after the funeral, that they needed to deal with one problem before facing the next…and she respected that. Respected him… But they needed to know, needed to be prepared and aware that danger could still touch them on this seemingly serene stretch of land…not that they hadn't begun to realize this truth the night previously.

Also there was the issue with the guns… now hidden in her vehicle away from the eyes of the deputy. It was safer that way, Rick had insisted before she had retired for her brief sleep, and she didn't disagree… she just knew this could only cause more potential for internal conflict. The new arsenal in her control had her more tense then she cared to be. The sailor cracked her neck, ponytail shifting slightly with the movement. She felt the eyes on her back track the movement, and let out a quiet breath, realizing her real problem with the sheriff's plan was that they had not yet told the hunter, even though he had been the one in the most danger. Even though this was so similar to the situation that had driven him from her the night previously… _Eventually he'll understand._

Before her, Hershel read a final verse from his old worn bible, snapping her eyes back to the grieving family that stood at the front of the gathering. To the pale face and tear filled eyes of Beth. So young and innocent. So untouched by death. The sounds of her muffled sobs still echoed in the sailor's mind as she took in the girl's face. Her air of pure defeat and sorrow.

As the farmer's voice died out, the gathering began to disband. Those dressed in black whose family members had just been buried, making their way with heads bowed back toward the sanctuary of the house. Leaving the rest to keep respectfully back in their wake.

A hand on her shoulder dragged the SEAL's attention away from the makeshift headstones she'd been examining. Her freckled brow still furrowed in thought, she turned to find its owner, Rick, staring at her with a slight frown on his thin face.

"We should gather our people ta tell them about last night," he muttered softly to her, his head bent down close to the sailor's ear, "We need ta have a watch 'n people checkin' the fence line for holes."

The sailor inclined her head in agreement, feeling a familiar set of eyes still lingering on her back as the sheriff finished. "I think that would be wise," she rasped, turning with the lean man to head back toward the gathering of tents, as they were the last two left at the gravesites. She was eager to have a watch outside of her own set up, and to have the fences carefully patrolled. They needed to start being more careful. To be more prepared for this sort of intrusion. Hopefully she and the sheriff would be able to easily convince their companions into helping with such tasks…hopefully the previous day's animosity wouldn't prove too much of a hindrance.

Also, the sailor thought as she brushed stray curls behind her ears, displaced by the clear day's wind, she wanted to head to the highway today. To see what sort of event had caused so many servicemen to die so near the farm… The only logical explanation seemed to be a military transport or caravan, and that sort of vehicle would mean supplies that they couldn't afford to pass up. Guns, med packs, and body armor…hell with the 24 plus hours the SEAL had endured she was pretty sure she deserved a fully fueled helicopter… _In your dreams, sailor._ Quinn snorted under her breath at her own hopelessly wishful imagination.

Unsurprisingly, her silent observer was nowhere to be seen as she and the sheriff padded toward their companions. The gruff man had likely retreated back to the solitude of his tent, or perhaps into the woods to hunt… _Now is not the time to go off alone, Ace…_ The sailor glanced at his campsite as she walked, trying to discern if his shadow could be seen within the canvas walls.

It took a few moments to gather everyone, save Daryl and Sophia who was sleeping, to the main campsite. After the events of the previous day, many of the survivors were on edge with one another and not particularly eager to be brought together.

Shane and Dale stayed as far apart from one another as they possibly could as the sheriff and SEAL beckoned their companions into a huddle, and although the deputy seemed to have no qualms with the freckled woman after their bought the previous day—his frustration and rage temporarily alleviated thanks to the throwing of fists despite his bruised face and pride—Andrea was a different story. The blonde woman had a leer hanging on her face as she watched the sailor take control of the group and begin rasping them through the current situation. The expression some mix of disdain, and although she would never admit it, ever growing envy.

Quinn gave the woman no mind as she and Rick told the story of the previous night. The blonde didn't threaten her, didn't concern her, and certainly would not distract her. A SEAL is above the pettiness of such situations. The sailor kept her tone firm and calm even as the blonde accusingly asked, "Why didn't you all wake us up? We should have been warned!"

"Because," Quinn rasped evenly, eyes cold and commanding as she stared down the blonde, "Unsuppressed gunfire is what likely drew them in the first place." Pausing, the sailor's gaze swept across the rest of the survivors, "It needed to be quietly and calmly handled and I found that myself and the men I woke were the best for that task."

As she mentioned them, she found her eyes drifting to the men that had had her back the night before. Glenn and T, who stood amongst the crowd offering her nods and half-smiles, seemed to straighten at the mention of her confidence in them. And the sheriff at her side dropped a hand on her shoulder in a show of support.

Her words were met with no arguments. All either silenced by the confidence of her calm tone, or simply because they saw her reasoning.

The sailor cracked her neck as she fell silent for a moment, the sheriff at her shoulder taking the stage to set up plans for a fence-patrol that day, her blue eyes flicking over the concerned faces of her companions again. They had been through so much turmoil in the last 24 hours; this new concern was visibly distressing some.

Suddenly, shouting from within the house tore through the air. Snapping the attention of the survivors to the front door as Maggie Greene came bursting out, panic clear on her face. "Have you seen my father? Beth's collapsed! God, where is he!" she shouted as she bounded down the stairs, head swiveling to check the farmland as if her father would emerge from a corner if she could only look quickly enough.

Glenn was at her side in a flash, folding her into his arms as he promised her over and over that they would find her father. Around them, as Maggie let herself be held for a moment, sobs of panic shaking her body, the rest of the group scattered. Yelling Hershel's name as they moved across the property. Even little Carl joined in, leaving the RV from where he'd been faithfully at Sophia's side as she slept, to join his mother as she ran to check the stables.

Quinn and Rick exchanged a glance as the gathering dispersed across the property, and both headed for the house in a jog. A sense of dread tugging at both of their guts. Through the front door and across the wood floor of the foyer they dashed, making quick work of the stairs to the second level of the house before pausing momentarily to check on the unconscious Beth and Patricia who sat at the girl's side.

They didn't linger long before moving to the farmer's room to search for clues to his location, just enough to grow anxious at the sight of the paleness of the teen's skin and the sweat beading at her brow. Surely she was in a state of shock.

After a moment of examining the widower's room in silent scrutiny, the sheriff peering out the window across from her out onto the campsite below with a scowl on his face, the sailor's dark brows furrowed as she spotted something silver poking out from under a pillow on the bed. The bed that was covered in what could only be boxes full of the man's deceased wife's clothing. All carefully folded as if an act of his final acceptance of her loss. His final goodbye.

Cautiously, the freckled sniper tugged the object out from its partially hidden position, shoulders collapsing slightly as she turned the thing over in her callused hands. A flask. _Fuck_

With a quiet chirping whistle, Quinn drew the sheriff to her side to hand him the small metallic container, concern reflecting between them as their eyes met. Hadn't they heard a car engine while they'd been standing at the gravesite contemplating their next move? Had they seen the farmer's red Bronco since returning to the house? _Double fuck._

* * *

"Ya killed all these fuckers last night?"

With one dirty work boot, the hunter kicked at the head of the corpse that lay crumpled at his feet. One bullet wound set perfectly in the thing's forehead. A shot that only one person he knew could have made with minimal light at such a distance…

He had only strayed from his solitude because he had seen T-dog struggling to move a corpse in the field nearest his new campsite. He had been so successful throughout the early morning grave-digging and general busywork of the day in staying far away from any of his "companions." But now the gruff man was realizing he might have missed something…that he definitely missed something… The hunter had been more then surprised to find about a dozen corpses scattered across the field when he had approached the large black man to assist. All well within a range that he deemed dangerous to his wellbeing. Some holding the obvious mark of a rifle shot to the forehead, others viciously slashed through the skull with what could only be the strike of a knife.

What the fuck had happened? Why hadn't he heard them?

Why hadn't he woken?

His mind spun through the questions as he stared down at the uniformed corpse, taking in its neat green uniform and tiny silver maple leaf pins, waiting for T's response…but in reality he knew. He knew why.

The ache in his head at the blinding light of the Georgia sun was enough to tell him why. As was the dry scratch of his throat…and the now empty bottle that had once held glorious amber alcohol. The bottle that had rested all night in his sleeping bag, held close to his chest like a lover.

The bottle that she had brought him, picked out for him after she had saved those idiots on their run…to make him feel better after a day forced to rest and to celebrate the steps toward finding that little girl that now slept safely in the old RV somewhere at his back. _Yer a fuckin' fool._

Last night he had drank away his sorrows alone in his tent, and he had missed the signs of danger swarming around him. The alcohol had numbed his senses into a dead and dreamless sleep, allowing him to forget his anger with that beautiful freckled woman and her damned sense of duty, and he hadn't heard them… he could have died. Should have died.

He knew what T's response would be even before the man spoke, and he hung his head to hide his shame as he hefted up the torso of the dead Marine they hefted between them.

"Nah man. It was Quinn. She dropped all these here in the field before she whistled for backup." T's voice rumbled from the feet end of the body.

He had slept through a call for backup… A signal in the language of calls that he knew she trusted him to always understand. The hunter grunted in response. Refusing to look up from the corpse now swinging between them, even as he heard the roar of an engine starting and the sounds of shouting voices from somewhere up by the house.

 _Yer a damned fool Daryl Dixon._

* * *

The bar scene is one of my favs, I hope I do it justice with the spins I'm planning.

Hope you all know that your reviews bring me joy.

best,

GC


	29. Chapter 29

Disclaimer: I own nothing in this brilliant world, except Q and company.

* * *

"They must be going to get the old man from town. Damned fool leaving his family after all this shit…"

The hunter grunted in response to T-dog's muttered words as they strode shoulder-to-shoulder back up toward the house. Both with dark patches of sweat marring their shirts, and blood and grime smeared on their skin from the task of clearing the uniformed dead from the field. Their muscles tired, arms hanging at their sides and feet dragging in a way that was particularly uncommon for the careful footed Dixon, they both squinted to try to tell who was piling into the farmer's old pickup truck to go after the man.

In a shuffle of gravel and a cloud of dust, the object of their interest quickly backed out of its spot in front of the house and started puttering its way down the unpaved road towards the town. A path that brought it rolling toward them as they continued their way out of the field, and forced them to stop for a moment to allow the truck to pass. T raising a hand to wave to those inside as it did.

Rick, Glenn, and Quinn were all crammed in the cab of the old vehicle, the hunter noticed as it slowly moved past him. Before he could stop himself, he found his eyes drawn to that particular freckled face that had been so frequently circling his thoughts…and blinking in surprise, he found her soft blue eyes gazing back at him. Unreadable. He only held the contact for a moment before he felt an uncomfortable feeling rising like bile in his throat— _was it shame? Guilt?_ —and he glanced away to instead examine what the sailor had resting on her lap. Before the truck's cab rolled out of his line of sight, Glenn offering him and T a wave, he noted with the hairs rising at the back of his neck that the freckled sniper was carrying not only her snow-camo rifle but also two handguns. What were they expecting to find in the little town…hadn't the sailor told him it been fairly safe last time she had been there?

The hunter's pace slowed as he and T again started padding toward the house and the campsite of most of their companions. He fell a few steps behind the large man, his sharp blue eyes trained on the trail of dust the truck left as it sped out onto the main road. Running a dirty hand through his sweaty hair, Daryl swore under his breath. He should be with them; he should be in that truck. If the sailor was bringing three separate firearms, then he knew that she was concerned—or maybe even certain—that they would be facing some sort of threat in the town. And if the sailor was concerned then everyone ought to be, the hunter thought with furrowed brows as he kicked a large bit of gravel out of his path. If the sailor was concerned then he was supposed to be at her side. It was supposed to be him, her, and the kid. That's how it was supposed to work. How it had worked through all of their struggles thus far. Ever since Merle… _All this for yer damn pride, Dixon._

Maybe when they came back he could do something to remedy this...whatever it was. Anything. He needed to be at their sides, to have that camaraderie and trust he had been so surprised to find in anyone outside of his brother.

Footsteps in the gravel drew the hunter out of the muddle in his head, bringing his sharp eyes in a snap from the road to the face of the approaching person. Carol, he noted with an annoyed huff of air. Her face bore the unmistakable look of concern, and her mouth was already opening to speak, so his chances of escaping to solitude were minimal. The gruff man stopped his stride, allowing the shorthaired woman to stand before him with hands settling on her hips. Meeting her gaze with one eyebrow cocked, he resigned himself to receive the lecture he could see shining in her eyes. _Now what have I done…_

"Why are you doing this?" the gray haired woman questioned, her attempt to make her soft voice seem stern falling somewhat short and causing the ghost of a smile to tug at the hunter's lips. Although going unnoticed to her as she continued, "You can't pull away… not now."

"The fuck you talkin' 'bout, woman?" the hunter growled, crossing his bare arms defensively across his chest, fully aware of what she was talking about. Hoping his harshness would drive her away without further discussion of the matter, the hunter held her gaze with a firm glare.

He was not in the mood for a discussion on his behavior…especially not when he was becoming more and more painfully aware of how this behavior had forced a dynamic shift, effecting the people around him. Forced them to fight without him, act without him while he had been drunk and angry. The hunter shook his head slightly, unnoticeably to the widow before him, chasing away that thought. He knew that wasn't what really bothered him about what was happening. About what he had done by snapping the night Sophia had come home… It was how it had affected _her_ …her ease with him. _Dammit Lee, why couldn't you have just told me._

The gray-haired woman before him was undeterred by his glare, seemingly filled with a new confidence with the return of her little girl. She stepped forward, encroaching on his personal space, and reaching out a thin hand, she made to touch his face as she replied, "You're just as good as them, you know. Just as good as Rick and Shane. Just as good as Quinn…"

He opened his mouth to make a retort, dodging away from Carol's hand before it could touch him, but she continued, firmly, "She may have found Sophia, but you… you were out there just the same. You've done so much for us…for me. More than my girl's father ever did. I can see you doubt it, pulling away like that after Quinn came back with her…but you're just as good as that woman."

"Ain't nobody as good as her…" the hunter's gravely voice floated behind him as he pushed forcefully past Carol, unwilling to hear more. Leaving her standing, mouth hanging open and hand still extended, on the gravel road.

He was left undisturbed for at least an hour after that exchange. Alone in his new campsite, he had busied himself with the skinning of squirrels and sharpening of bolts for his bow. His eyes always managing to find their way back to the distant road of their own accord as he had worked, hoping—against his best effort to remain unbothered—to see a cloud of dust and an old truck.

The interruption came in the form of a knife in his face. A situation that would generally have his hackles rising with his crossbow, but a glimpse at its wielder had alleviated any concern and he met the intruder with a lopsided smile from where he sat in the grass. "Whatcha got there, darlin'?" he asked.

Sophia, knife still extended too the hunter in her little hand—like she was offering it too him, dropped to sit before him as she responded, "It's a knife, Mister Dixon," a smile gracing her young features. She thrust the weapon out to him in a more obvious gesture, wanting him to take it.

Gently, the gruff man plucked the blade from her small hand, bringing it to balance by the blade and hilt between each of his index fingers. "I can see that," he started, carefully examining the weapon and finding it more and more familiar the longer he stared, "Where'd ya get this?"

The girl kept smiling at him, sitting cross-legged with her hands resting on her ankles, looking so alive and full of youthful energy. One would never have guessed that she had been lost in the woods only a few days before. Well, the hunter cocked his head slightly as he found a few scratches on her face and hands, at least they wouldn't guess it at first glance. He found her attitude and recovery both incredibly impressive. Nearly as impressive as the fact that she had survived in general…alone for so long…not many kids could do that.

"Miss Quinn gave it to me in a scary little building the night I got lost," the smile drooped slightly on the kid's face as she spoke, her eyes distant as if reliving the moment. Her high voice grew quiet as she continued, "It was full of corpses, so many corpses…and she was bleeding so much…she gave it to me and told me to run."

Sophia paused for a moment, the hunter's heart clenching as her eyes focused on his own again, reading the determination burning in her gaze as he could tell she was willing herself not to cry. "But I don't want to talk about that right now," she whispered to him, "I wanted to give it to you, so you could give it back to her. Momma said you guys were fighting last night…maybe if you gave her this back it might help. Miss Quinn said you helped her save me…and you should get along, you know?"

The hunter was caught entirely off guard by the comment, his stubbled lips dropped open and his eyes fell to the blade between his fingers. So shocked that he barely heard the girl's light call of: "see you later, Mister Dixon!" or her retreating steps in the grass and gravel. He was unable to tear his eyes from the metallic glint for long enough to respond, although the girl didn't seem to mind as she trotted back to the RV and her mother's waiting arms with a smile.

Spinning the blade dexterously between his fingers, the hunter allowed his memory to bring the image of that little church bubbling back before his eyes. With its locked doors, and the hungry dead lurching towards them when they had forced their way in. The twice-dead corpses already lying on the ground…and the body of one barely-alive woman. That was the image he had been trying to forget since he had first had it burned into his mind. The blood pooled around her. The stillness of her body…the paleness of her freckled face. The hunter caught his lip in his teeth and bit down, agitated with the memory and the fear that came with it. She had locked herself in that little building to die so that the girl could escape, what else would she do for these people…their companions. For him.

Was that what she'd been thinking when she'd kept the farmers secret? That it would keep them safe…the hunter then realized, eyes meeting their own reflection in the metal of the blade, that he had never seen the sailor go to bed since they had arrived at the farm. That even when he had woken in the night for various reasons, her car had been empty… Had she been watching over them? Over the barn? The hunter's sharp eyes jumped from the knife to scan the house, something the sailor had once mentioned floating through his mind. _They never look up, people I mean, ace. A sniper knows they never look up._

On the roof of the old white farmhouse, in a particularly flat spot, was a patch of roof oddly free of leaves and the other debris, too noticeably bare to have been clear for only one night... Just large enough to fit the body of a person lying down. _Why didn't you tell me, Lee._

The sound of yet another pair of approaching feet drew the hunter's eyes hesitantly from the house. He was growing tired of being approached, he thought with brows furrowing as he glared at the newcomer. He'd had quite enough of it for the day.

A thin brunette woman making her way towards him with long strides…what could he possibly do for Lori Grimes?

* * *

It wasn't difficult to determine where in the town the farmer had wandered. His red bronco flagged the building like a flare. Even if they hadn't already known the vehicle to be his, they would have easily recognized it as the only working car on the street—or even the whole town—save their own.

Rick pulled the old truck over to park next to the vehicle in question, the dust of the road still settling behind it as the trio stepped cautiously out. Their eyes glued to the dark wood façade of the pub they found themselves in front of, an uncomfortable feeling churning in all of their stomachs.

The street was deathly silent, save for the soft clinks of the truck's cooling engine, and as the dust finally fell into place on the road, an eeriness washed over them. Like they were the only living souls on the earth for a moment.

The sailor dropped a comforting arm around her copilot's shoulders as he let out a nervous rush of air. Squeezing him for a moment as their conversation from the drive replayed in her mind. _She told me she loved me, Q. She told me she loved me, and I said nothing!_ He would be on edge until he saw the farmer's oldest daughter again, the sailor was certain. Quinn would be careful to keep a watchful eye and a calm demeanor for his sake…a shock like new love can slow ones steps.

Her gaze surveyed the façade and the roof above as the sheriff holstered his weapon and moved around the truck to stand at her shoulder. He muttered, "it's time," to the kid under her arm, his honest eyes searching Glenn's face before jumping to the sailor.

With a freckled hand, Quinn gestured to the roof of the building, "I'm going to keep watch from the roof, something is off here," she rasped, bringing the hand back down to adjust the various firearms strapped to her body in preparation for the climb. When Rick nodded in agreement, she continued, "Keep your radio close so I can signal if necessary. Use channel 2," patting the radio of the twice-dead Marine she had hooked to her belt.

The sheriff quickly clicked the small radio sticking out of his pant-pocket to the correct channel, before ushering Glenn forward with him. He offered the sailor a half-smile as he pulled open the heavy door of the pub, murmuring under his breath, "Lets hope this's quick," before disappearing into the building with the young Korean in tow.

With a half-hearted laugh at how unlikely that would be given their usually dismal luck, the sailor turned her attention back to the façade, looking for a good route. Her lips quirked up as she found a few sturdy looking windowsills, and with a jump, she propelled herself onto the building and began her ascent. Freckled hands finding firm holds. Pulling up, reaching, pulling up again while her rifle jostled on her back, until at last she could hoist herself over the decorative top of the façade onto the roof.

The roof itself was uninteresting, flat save for an HVAC, trap door to the bar within, and a bench that was surrounded with long-forgotten cigarette butts. Someone's smoke-break spot. The sailor made a quick trip around the short exterior wall—there to theoretically stop anyone from falling off, although not nearly tall enough to do the job well—rifle raised to her shoulder as she scanned the street at the front and the alley out back for movement.

She found none…at least none immediately threatening. From her vantage point she could see a fenced in lot a block or so down the street, likely a used car sales lot, and trapped within the chain-links were two corpses. They were thin, and barely moving, the sailor noticed while peering through her scope, like they hadn't fed in a long time. Which made sense given their imprisonment. Satisfied that nothing surprising would attack her boys from the back alley, at least not before she heard it coming from some distance, the sailor lowered her rifle and padded back to the front of the building.

The front barrier wall of the roof was designed decoratively to match the pub's facade, with an array of short swooping arches and columns, the perfect design for a sniper. Quinn set up near the far corner of the roof—furthest from the entrance road to the town so as to have the best vantage point—with a solid wall protecting her right side, but so she could still angle herself toward the road and position her rifle between columns for a clean shot. Settling onto her stomach and tapping her radio to send the sheriff a short blip of static to signal that she was in place, the freckled sniper let her training take over. Let calm wash over her as she relaxed into the familiar position, adjusted her scope slightly to accommodate a wide angle, and drew her eye to the cool white patterned metal, ready for anything that may stumble into her line of sight.

For a few minutes she was gloriously at peace, alone with her thoughts and memories of like-times. This was what she did. What she was trained for. Lying in wait for as long as the mission deemed necessary, even when there was no visible threat. Especially when there was no visible threat. The sniper blew a stray curl out of her face as she focused her attention on a distant cloud of dust far up the entrance road, too far away for the snow rifle's scope to make out much more then a brown haze, her mind only half present—as seemed to always be the case after that day of blood and snow—with memories of her old spotter fighting for her attention. Leo. Patient, loyal, and ridiculous Leo. How many hours of her life had she spent lying motionless next to that giant, communicating with only expressions…the Samoan was even more ridiculous when only using his eyebrows to speak.

Something was coming into focus within the cloud of dust. The SEAL popped the knuckles of her trigger hand and forced herself to remain in the present, ignoring the ache threatening the jagged scar at the back of her head. Within the cloud of dust she could now clearly see vehicles. Unfamiliar vehicles, which were rapidly approaching. They maybe had minutes before they would have company in the abandoned town. Quinn quickly pulled her little radio from her belt and called to Rick, hoping that they had already convinced Hershel to leave and they could get out in the next minute or so, "We're gonna have company in like 2 minutes," the sailor rasped into the radio, "Please tell me we're ready to go."

There was a long pause before her radio crackled into life with a response, during which the caravan grew larger and larger in her scope, and she began to hear the rumble of engines.

"Not yet. Keep me posted," came Rick's hasty static-filled reply. _Fuck_

With a long exhale of air, the sailor sunk lower into the roof, trying to be sure that she was as invisible as possible in her position. The cars were rolling into the town now, pulling over to park in front of various storefronts, forcing her to adjust her scope as she scanned carefully to keep them all in view. Out of the cars jumped men. Loud, riled up men with guns. Her freckled finger settled cautiously on her trigger as she examined the firearms slung over their shoulders and shoved in the back of their pants. Some regular handguns, a few shot guns…but some other weaponry that had her concern mounting and her finger ready to fire. Military grade automatic weapons. The type of weapons that she knew she should have found on the squadron of Marines she dropped the previous night… "Rick, we need to leave right now," she whispered harshly into her radio.

No response.

Two men were heading for the pub. _Fuck._ Luckily, Quinn noted as she peered down at them, neither appeared to be carrying anything bigger than a handgun. But handguns could still get her people killed. With her rifle trained carefully on the forehead of the smaller man, she thought briefly about just ending the situation. Her suppressor would keep her position hidden long enough for her to take down more then half of the men, and would save her the potential firefight and potential loss of her own men… _No. This isn't war. These are civilians._ She signaled Rick again as the two men neared the pub door, rasping, "Two armed men coming in now," just before they wrenched open the heavy wooden thing. Her chance to get them out clean and unnoticed vanishing as the two men disappeared out of her sight and into the building.

Now all she could do was wait and hope that her boys were good talkers…and that Hershel wasn't too drunk to run.

The men—maybe a dozen of them if the sailor had counted correctly—continued to mill around the street, taking supplies from stores to their SUVs and chatting loudly. Too loudly for her taste. Everything about their arrival had been too nonchalant with noise. If the roar of engines hadn't drawn the dead, then the chorus of breaking glass as shops were ransacked and the rowdy shouting that could rival any fraternity party certainly would. Quinn chewed her lip as she watched them; fortunately none had chosen to follow their two companions into the bar. At least not yet.

Gunfire.

The layers of wood and concrete between the sailor and the bar's interior muffled it, but she could still hear the shots. Still feel the vibration. Muscles tensing, she scanned the road for signs that the other men had noticed the noise. Nothing. They appeared to be oblivious as she laid waiting for a signal. Either the strangers would run out, or Rick would call her… _C'mon Rick. Don't do this to me, man._

The radio crackled to life and Quinn felt herself relax as she muffled it in her shirt. Not eager to have her position discovered.

"I had to," came Rick's crackling voice, "They were gonna shoot us. I had to, Quinn."

She could hear the stress in his tone, the turmoil with the decision to kill a living person. Infinitely relieved to hear his voice, and have it confirmed that it was the strangers and not her men killed, Quinn quickly whispered back a response. "I know. I trust you. But there's more out here. We're gonna be in trouble if we can't get you all out the back without notice—fuck," the sailor paused, eyes trained on three men that were now wandering toward the pub. Looks of mild concern on their faces. From her vantage point she could hear snippets of their conversation as they asked each other when they had last seen some of their companions…likely the ones now dead in the pub. "Fuck, Rick. Three more coming toward you. I can take them out but then we have to run like hell," the sailor whispered forcefully, her rifle trained on the forehead of the man with the largest weapon of the trio.

"No," Rick asserted through the radio, "let me try and talk to them. They'll understand what I had to do."

At his words the sailor was swearing again. Every colorful word she could think of as she watched the men peer through the dark windows of the pub, her weapon still aimed to kill. The sheriff had too much faith in humanity for his own good. The voices of the trio of men were now floating up to her, each yelling for the missing pair, but there was something else too. A different noise then that of men yelling or breaking glass or loading cars.

The dead.

Quinn tore her eye from her scope, leaving it aimed at the men she was near certain would require her attention, and gazed down the street with a naked eye. The opposite way from where she had positioned herself. "We got walkers too, Rick," she rasped into the radio as she saw them. Far too many for her comfort, drawn by the idiocy of these strangers.

Yelling from within the bar drew the sailor back to her scope in a flash of curls. Carefully focusing back on the three men now trying to force their way through the door that her boys must have barricaded, she held her breath and waited. Waited for someone to snap.

A man of the trio brandished a handgun at the window as the sailor could hear Rick trying to reason with them over the death of their companions. She could see his anger bubbling over in the reddening of his face; see the twitch of his finger approaching the trigger.

Quinn fired. A harsh pip of air sounding in her ear while she watched the man's forehead disappear in a cloud of red as he dropped. The two men at his sides seemed frozen for a moment as they watched blood pool halo-like around him. Then their guns were up, one aiming at the pub window-front, one scouring the building tops to try and find her. Both yelling to their companions that they were under attack.

"They got a fuckin' sniper! Take 'em down!"

The SEAL adjusted slightly, aimed, and tapped. The man about to open up on the pub-front dropping next to the first as her rifle recoiled into her shoulder. "You guys gotta run for the back now," she rasped calmly into her radio, ducking her head as automatic weapon fire peppered the barrier wall she was tucked behind. She knew they hadn't identified her position yet—as the bursts of gunfire were un-aimed and sporadic—and that the men were panicking.

"Lame-brains! Down the street!" came a shout from below as the men below finally noticed the approaching corpses.

Now the spray of bullets was aimed at the stumbling dead as well as turned randomly to the rooftops. Hopefully giving her people time to make for the alley, the sailor thought as the yelling of a man being bitten by the dead rang through the street. Another spray of bullets rained over the pub, and Quinn pressed her body into the concrete beneath her as a few rounds flew over her head. Swearing, she adjusted her aim and dropped one of the men carrying an M16 in a gruesome explosion of blood from his eye socket.

"We're in the alley, could use more firepower. Glenn won't move," came Rick's voice crackling through the radio at last.

Freckled hands hit concrete and the sailor propelled herself to her feet and sprinted toward the opposite side of the roof. Rifle thrown over her shoulder as she moved. Behind her she could here the shouts of "On the roof! There!" but she didn't hesitate. Not even as a new stream of gunfire lit up the neatly designed façade she'd been hiding behind, sending it crumbling into the street.

She caught a glimpse of her companions, crouched behind a dumpster in the alley to hide from both living and dead attackers alike, before she threw herself over the edge of the roof. Hands finding the metal of the gutter so that her free-fall became a slide as she shouted, "cover fire!"

The sheriff responded, as she knew he would, leaping out from his hiding place with his silver gun raised to guard her back. He fired, killing an oncoming walker as the sailor landed in a roll at his side. Then fired again, a warning shot to the leg, as a man from the group of strangers rounded the corner to the alley.

The man screamed and crumpled, blood pouring from the injury onto the ground, the scent of it drawing corpses like moths to a fire. In a moment they were on him. Mindlessly devouring.

While Rick guarded them, standing tall with his familiar weapon raised and ready as corpses started to appear at the entrance of the alley, Quinn dashed to where Hershel was talking to Glenn behind the dumpster. Her demeanor carefully calm as she gestured Hershel to follow Rick and then knelt before her co-pilot.

He was pale. Eyes glassy, and hands shaking. He was scared, frozen, and had every right to be. The sailor took his face in her hands and forced him to focus on her, pulling him out of his unfocused fog so that his big brown eyes met her own. "We aren't going to die today, G," she rasped, pulling forth a line that the hunter had used in like times, his icy eyes in her mind as she took a deep breath and willed the boy before her to be calm, "We still got shit to do. Now stay right on my shoulder, just like in that school. We aren't gonna die today."

Then they were moving. Weapons raised and steps in sync as they paced in a diamond, Quinn at the point with a handgun in each hand. One old, one new. They edged out of the alley, each firing at corpses approaching from different directions, the sounds of the shouting of the living filling their ears between the bangs of gunfire and the groans of the dead.


	30. Chapter 30

The roar of an engine, its vibrations racking her body. The flash of asphalt, dust, and the watercolor of green and brown foliage. The ringing of past gunfire in her ears, the scent of iron and the feel of blood drying on her hands—caking and cracking across her knuckles.

There was something vaguely familiar about it all.

Had she not done this before? Been on this machine, with familiar weapons rattling across her back, leaving some desolate scene. Some blood-strewn streets scattered with her casings.

The ache at the base of her skull intensified as she tore her eyes from the flash of yellow that marked the road's middle and focused on the form before her. The broad-shouldered body she had tethered herself to with both freckled arms. For a moment, as her eyes adjusted from the motion of the asphalt to the close and stationary body—the ache stretching to sit behind her eyes as she concentrated—she saw the uniform. She saw the helmet and the patches on his shoulders, the tan camouflage pattern… _a SEAL._ But that wasn't right.

The sailor forced her eyes shut as her head pounded with her heartbeat. Slow and thunderous. She dropped her forehead onto the form before her, and flexed her arms around his torso, grasping at reality.

She had done this before.

But now was not then—and now was not the time for this. Quinn clenched her jaw, brows creasing in pain as she opened her eyes to stare at the black leather before her. Forehead still pressed into the muscled back beneath it. _You're better than this._

Wes had said that this might happen. Months ago—maybe even years—when she had first come back. Back from the snow. He had given her that little orange bottle with the white cap. For emergencies—to stop her world from blurring with her experience. But she had lost that in her rush from DC, still unused after all that time, as she was too stubborn to see the need…but she hadn't had this happen then. Not like it had since the turn of the world…and maybe that was the cause, the world was a warzone now and her mind was reacting accordingly. With what it knew.

Or maybe it was the exhaustion that had come with the rise of the dead; reality always seemed to lose focus when she skipped too much sleep. Because god she was tired. So, so tired. Gone were the days when she could function at top speed without rest, and she needed to adjust to this reality—but no—she didn't have time for that, not when she needed to always be on alert for the people she protected… for the civilians. She just needed to be careful. _You're better than this._

The engine of the chopper roared louder as the man before her pushed their pace forward, making the air howl as it whipped her pony tail out like a flag waving behind her. The sailor tightened her grip with her thighs around the thundering vehicle, feeling the man before her speak by the rumble of his chest through her hands as she did. Something unintelligible above the bike and the wind, but it still drew her to raise her head from his back to gaze forward at the road. Eyes watering in the whip of air.

They had caught up with the Bronco. The dated red vehicle that held her three weary companions…and one extra.

They had been within sprinting distance of escape, maybe fifty yards between them and the red Bronco, only a small spattering of the dead blocking their way, as the grotesque things seemed more focused on the other group of fleeing living. Probably due to their shouting and general disorganization, the idiots were still nothing but loud… When they had heard a hair-raising scream.

The type of scream that only comes with unimaginable pain. Four sets of eyes had flicked to the rooftop that the scream had come from in unison, all pausing in their diamond formation with weapons still raised and ready as they searched for the culprit of the sound.

"Oh, fuck!" Glenn had yelled, frantically waving the quartet after him as he had sprinted toward the still screaming man.

No, he wasn't a man. The boy, screaming and thrashing in pain, had jumped from the rooftop and landed on a wrought iron fence, skewering his leg in the process. The boy's group, unaware of his condition, had sped out of town—SUV after SUV—as Glenn ran to the fence with the others trailing warily behind him with weapons raised. Dropping the approaching dead with headshot after headshot as they had seemed to come stumbling out of every building

"We need to go!" Quinn had rasped as she had holstered one of her handguns to draw her knife. Slashing the blade through the skull of a corpse as she had dragged Hershel by the collar out of the thing's blackened dead hands, while Rick and her copilot had prodded at the kid's leg to see if they could move him. But each attempt had led to another blood-curdling scream, and each scream had drawn more dead to them like moths to a fire. When she had protectively placed herself between the approaching dead and her trio of companions attempting to free the boy—knife in one hand, gun in the other—the sailor had rasped out, "Y'all got maybe one minute before we're over run, get him off that!" pips of air sounding as she brought down the closest walkers.

Her estimation had been far too generous. In about twenty seconds they had been swarmed, and the sailor had been forced to call Glenn to her side so that they could slice at the mass to maintain a bubble of safety for Rick and Hershel as they had panicked to try and amputate the boy's leg.

As the SEAL had tugged her blade—rotten blood now soaking her hand—from the skull of a corpse, Glenn at her shoulder swinging away with his machete, both slashing as quickly as possible in a near frenzy to keep up with the shuffling enemy, she had heard a familiar roar.

The damn thing was the loudest vehicle she had heard outside of a warzone, almost comically so, but she had never been so glad to hear it thundering down the road as she had been in that moment amongst the swarm of dead.

"Thank fuckin' everything," she had heard her copilot mutter as they had continued their onslaught, shoulder to shoulder, one tugging a blade from a skull while the other slashed in a cyclic pattern. What she wouldn't give for her second blade, she had thought with her single knife slashing through skin as she had at last seen the chopper and the man atop it come speeding into view.

"Move!" the hunter had yelled, so forcefully that the gravel in his voice seemed to tear the sound, while whipping the chopper to fly at the crowd that had stood between himself and the quartet of survivors. The vehicle beneath him had screamed as he gunned the engine to power through the bodies

Move they had. Quinn and Glenn had sprinted back to the fence as the chopper sent bodies scattering out of its way, while Rick had exchanged a decisive look with the farmer at his side before the sheriff had taken a deep breath and yanked the boy free from the fence. The scream of the kid echoing in their ears as Glenn had moved to help Rick carry him as he passed out from the pain.

The sailor and Hershel had sprung into action to defend the backs of their companions then too occupied to fight as they had all made a sprint for the Bronco. Quinn careful to keep the older man in front of her as they had moved toward the car, her knife flashing through flesh as she fought back their nearest pursuers, the sound of the farmer's shotgun deafening her with each blast in her ear.

And with the somehow ringing deafness came the ache at the back of her head. _Not now, sailor…_

With another roll of thunder the hunter had shot forward through the crowd of walkers to clear their path to the old red vehicle. By steady hands he had carefully maneuvered in front of Rick and Glenn, coming to a halt at the Bronco and throwing himself off his bike to attack those corpses huddled around the red metal. Bolts acting like hammers as he had driven them through dead skulls, stilling their gnashing hungry teeth.

Throwing the boy into the back of the Bronco, Rick and Glenn had clambered into the vehicle as Daryl guarded their backs. The sheriff had slid into the driver's seat and jammed the keys into the ignition as he shouted, "Run! Run to the car!" out to his still fighting companions.

Hershel had responded instantaneously, no age showing in the way he had turned and sprinted to the faithful red vehicle he had driven to this little town to drown his sorrows. The path to escape kept clear as the hunter had beat walkers out of his way. In a moment he had reached the vehicle and thrown himself inside, panting with exhaustion and hands shaking around the shotgun he had help, but very much alive.

"Where's Quinn?" The sheriff had questioned as his eyes had darted from those in his car and to the hunter who had been moving to right his bike.

The hunter had frozen at his question, and all eyes had turned out to the crowd of hungry dead to search for wild curls and freckles, all very aware of how close the corpses had been getting to blocking their escape with each second they had waited to leave.

As Glenn shouted, "Q!" they had all spotted her. Bent low in the fighting position she had been trained to hold, arms jabbing and swinging out with practiced rhythm. One punching one slicing as she had fought into the crowd, each swing taking her farther from them, each whistle of her knife lighting a fire in her eyes that they had never seen. Feral, angry light. The corpses were falling like paper burns in fire, eaten up and reduced to smoke as they fueled her charge.

Glenn had seen her like that before—in that dark school all those weeks ago—and he had met the hunter's eyes to make him understand what had to happen as the others had watched with mouths agape at the growing count of twice-dead bodies at their companion's feet. She would not stop until they were safe. Until all the enemies of her men were dead. Or she was dead… Something had happened in her time in service. Something that caused these furies. Glenn just hadn't had the courage to ask about it yet.

"Go," the hunter had growled when he had seen the look in Glenn's eye, slamming the last door closed on the Bronco before he had sprinted to his bike. "Go, I'll get her."

They had obeyed, the sheriff pushing the old vehicle into reverse and whipping down the street as bodies scratched hungrily at their windows, leaving the hunter and the sailor in a cloud of dust amongst the dead.

With another roar the chopper had sprung forward, Daryl guiding it as slowly as he could toward the still-fighting SEAL as he had yelled, "Lee! We gotta go!" When he got no response, he had revved his bike again and this time gunned forward into the crowd the sailor was fighting. Sending the bodies tumbling back, he had drawn the freckled woman's attention at last as he dropped a foot on the ground and stopped the chopper at her side. "Quinn, please," he had murmured, pleading.

He had been burned, singed with hair standing on end when she had met his eyes. They were like nothing he had ever seen before. At the edge of fury and insanity, and yet still composed. Still the Quinn he knew beneath a haze of rage. In a blink of her soft blue eyes the fire extinguished, and recognition seemed to dawn on her. Of him, of the situation…and then she was climbing on the chopper behind him.

Her bloodied arms had wrapped around his torso as the hunter had kicked the bike up and gunned it into movement. Her breath heating the back of his neck, she had rasped, "Thank you," so quietly he could feel it more than he could hear.

She had yet to speak again.

The farmhouse was in view now. Past the boxy red vehicle before them, down the long stretch of straight unlined road. Each second it grew larger, and with it the ever mounting feeling of exhaustion weighed down on the sailor. Soon they would have to deal with all the issues of the day. With Beth's condition, and with Hershel's leaving. With the boy and his mangled leg from a group of men that had fired upon them…

But maybe she could sleep soon, the sailor thought as her head pounded again with the beat of her heart. She needed to sleep soon.

The thought had been folly, because as soon as the chopper rolled to a stop next to the Bronco out front of the old white house, the air was alive with questions and shouts from their companions.

Who was this strange injured boy they had brought back with them? Why were they all spattered with the blood of the dead? Why had Hershel abandoned his family in their time of need?

None of those that had journeyed to the town attempted to answer right away. Instead they focused on unloading the unconscious boy—who they had blind folded as a precaution—and carrying him into a small shed on the property where they could lock him in to rest until they figured out how to tread next. All five of them pausing for a moment to meet one another's eyes as Rick clicked a padlock into place on the old wooden door, the sheriff muttering, "I'm keepin' this key, I know that some people are gonna be opposed to this boy right away. Only we go in there for now, yeah?"

Four heads nodded their acceptance before the group split: Rick to run to a very worried looking Lori and Carl, Glenn and Hershel into the house to find the Greene daughters, and Quinn to face the gathering of their companions to explain what had happened, with Daryl striding in silence at her shoulder.

As she could have predicted, Shane had the biggest problem with the fact that they had brought home a stranger. All but the deputy had listened patiently and respectfully as the sailor had recounted the tale of the town, the hunter standing stoically at her side. They had asked a few worried questions about the number of corpses they had faced, concerned that the monsters might stumble towards the farm, but the sailor had easily calmed their worries with assurances that the distance was too far for the corpses to have followed them by scent or sound. The threat was not direct. This had been enough for most, leading Carol to return to cooking dinner and watching over Sophia as the girl played with Carl—who had left his parents to themselves—Patricia and Jimmy to trail back into the house, and T dog and Dale to return to their task of dealing with some new mechanical problem on the RV.

Thus leaving the sailor and hunter staring down Shane and Andrea.

Quinn's eyes flicked from the deputy to the face of the blonde, annoyed with her presence. The sailor knew the blonde woman was simply going along with whatever opinion the deputy had, and it was obnoxious. Where was the strong willed independent lawyer she had known at the quarry, the sailor thought with her brows creasing in frustration as she focused back on the deputy and his words.

"C'mon Quinn. You know we can't risk his men comin' here! 'Specially not if they really have as much firepower as you say. You know we can't risk that." The hulking man urged, stepping closer to the sailor and lowering his voice. Trying to sway her. "This guy is dangerous, I don't care if he's young. Y'all musta killed some of his people an' I'm sure he ain't gonna forget that."

The sailor's gaze again flicked to Andrea as he finished—who was nodding at his side—before she noticed the twitch of the deputy's hand, as if he was thinking about reaching out to her to try and further his attempt at charm. The thought was short-lived though, the sailor noted, as the large man dropped the hand just as she felt the hunter tense and edge nearer to her.

"We'll discuss it as a group tonight, until then leave it alone." The sailor responded firmly, eyes hard as she looked from the deputy to the blonde. The large man opened his mouth to make some sort of retort, but shut it firmly when she raised and eyebrow and again felt the hunter tense at her side. The sailor was not eager for the group discussion on the subject that Rick had organized for later that night, but she sure as hell wasn't going to listen to the deputy's complaints before she had to.

The deputy left with an unsatisfied air, clearly having much more to say on the matter as he muttered to Andrea. Heads bowed, and disgusted looks thrown at the shed that held the newcomer as they went.

Quinn closed her eyes and clasped her hands behind her neck in a stretch, inhaling deeply as she listened to the crunch of their footsteps in the gravel. She was tired. So tired. As she released the breath, feeing the air leaving her body, the sailor tried to force some of the exhaustion out with it. Trying to will life back into her body and pain out of her head.

"You okay?" came a familiar quiet growl at her side, and she felt him shift to face her, her eyes still firmly closed as his broad shoulder brushed her raised elbow.

Arms dropping so that she could rub at her tired eyes for a moment, the sailor yawned. Lion-like and long, and when she at last opened her eyes to glance over at the hunter she rasped, "Yeah, yeah."

"Right," the hunter responded, one of his dark brows raised as her eyes traced his face. She could tell he was not convinced.

The man was too good at reading body language, too good at reading her. He had seen her eyes when she had fought into the crowd in the street, and felt her tensing on the back of his bike when he had chased down the Bronco. He knew something was off. But, as she held his gaze, she saw his eyes soften, the corner of his mouth twitch slightly, and she knew that he would drop it for now. That he would let her get away from that struggle in her mind for a while.

The gruff man shifted his weight and dropped her gaze to his watch his feet as he reached for something stowed at the back of his belt. Withdrawing a flash of metal, he muttered, "Lee, I—I wanted ta say…Well," pausing as he looked up warily to check the sailor's expression.

Quinn glanced from his face to the thing now being held out to her with a dark eyebrow cocked, her eyes growing with surprise as she recognized it. Her second knife, the twin to the blade now sheathed at her back that she hadn't seen that night in the little white church… _Sophia._

"Well... Fuck I—" the hunter's attempt at continuing his thought was cut short by a pair of high-pitched voices shouting the sailors name. As the two children rushed over to them, Daryl cracked his neck in frustration and held the knife out for the sailor to take. Leaving without another word once the sharp thing was in her freckled grasp, even as her rasped, "Wait, ace," floated in his wake.

"Quinn! Quinn!" Carl and Sophia called in unison as they each caught one of her hands in their own, dragging her over to the field were they had been playing. Giving the sailor no choice but to abandon any attempt at following the hunter for the moment, although she still wanted to convince the younger Dixon to come with her to scout the highway...as well as finish his damned sentences. But seeing the pair of kids so happy and so very much alive distracted her from those thoughts after a moment. How grateful Quinn was that Sophia could have that great a smile plastered on her young face…

They led her over to an intricately planned out design of sticks and rocks stretched out across a patch of short grass, their beaming ceaseless as they pulled her down to sit between them before the expanse. Settling down cross-legged, the sailor couldn't help the smile that split across her freckled face as she listened to their chatter.

They had designed a city. A city for them all to be safe in, Sophia clarified, her small fingers pointing out the lines of sticks that acted as tall border walls. "Too keep everything out," she said, smile still on her face.

The sailor leaned back to rest her weight on her hands as the pair of young voices washed over her. Full of hope as they explained each carefully thought out part of their utopia. Carl's design for watchtowers and machine gun turrets—he insisted that these were easy to engineer—and Sophia's plan for plots of vegetables and herbs. Herbs that included ones her mom said could be used as medicine, Sophia explained to the sailor, her head dropping onto the woman's broad shoulder.

Quinn hummed her acknowledgement to each new explanation; nodding encouragingly to the two as they spoke, smile growing as she let their hope energize her. Let it lift away the exhaustion and cloudiness in her mind from overly taxing days.

The sailor stayed with them until Lori called the pair away for some tedious chore, collapsing onto her back to stare up at the clouds as their light voices floated up from where they rested at her sides. Each using her like a pillow as they imagined aloud their utopia in greater and greater detail.

"What will you call it?" the sailor had asked before the kids had been forced to stand and dash to Lori's call.

"Heaven," they had echoed in unison.

* * *

The shadows were growing long. The sun falling on another warm Georgia day. Too full of danger and argument to have been deemed good…although it was not quite over. Still a few more hours until color would burst across the sky—red and gold and pink—and the sun dropping with the temperature.

They decided—although it was certainly not unanimous—to drop off the newcomer, Randall, the next day. Hershel would do his best to path him up before then, and the rest would simply have to deal with the fact that they were not going to keep the kid prisoner, or kill him as Shane had suggested. They were better then that, Rick had preached from his place in the middle of the living room of the old white farmhouse, his honest eyes searching the faces of those gathered around him. They were good. They had to be; he had finished when he had found the pair of soft blue eyes he knew would stand with him.

Stand with him she had, and stand with him she would, the sailor thought as she paced over gravel and grass toward a certain tent. She admired Rick, his hope and his optimism in this new unforgiving world, and she would do her best to support him. Even when her own war-trained mind gave her different options…she would stand by him, because this was not war and the things deemed honorable in combat were not always so accepted in the civilian world. It was a line she had to be careful to tread, even as the day to day seemed to grow closer and closer in similarity to the many warzones she had seen.

The hunter was already ready and waiting the sailor noted as she padded nearer, picking up her pace. Dressed in one of his few shirts that still had its sleeves and the winged leather vest that seemed to suit him so well, he sat in the saddle of his bike with his crossbow strapped to the vehicle behind him. Head down and hands fiddling with the headlight fuses so that he didn't immediately notice her approach.

"Ready, ace?" the sailor rasped, black boots coming to a halt in the grass a few feet from the distracted man. A smile pulling at the corner of her mouth as she watched his face shift from disgruntled focus to surprise as he turned from his task. It wasn't often that she could sneak up on the younger Dixon.

Composing himself, Daryl raked a hand through his hair and cleared his throat before responding, "Been waitin' on you, Lee." His face still a warmer tinge than he would have liked as he jerked his head to signal the freckled woman to climb on behind him. Missing her raised eyebrow as he turned his attention back to the bike, but not missing the weight shift beneath him or the arms encircling his waist as the sailor nimbly moved behind him.

With a jerk of his wrist, the chopper roared to life, a racehorse chomping at the bit as it quaked beneath the pair. The great round headlight on its front thankfully flashing on with the engine, much to the hunter's relief, as he was fairly certain they wouldn't make it back to the farm before dark. With a long exhale, he kicked and revved, sending the bike rocketing forward toward the long entry road and the distant highway, his shoulders tensing as the sailor tightened her grip at the sudden movement.

As the rest of their companions gathered to help with dinner preparations, bustling around their campsite and still arguing among themselves about the days events, the hunter and sailor shot by in a cloud of dust. The chopper booming to announce their exit.

They were not yet done with the day.


	31. Chapter 31

Disclaimer: I own nothing of this brilliant world, only my OC's.

* * *

She remembered the smell of hung-dry linen. The way it would waft through the rooms of the old house, as footsteps would creak on the wood floor in the early morning. Before the family was up. She would follow the footsteps, tired eyes barely open as she clung to a steaming mug of freshly brewed tea—placed in her pale hand as soon as she stepped out her doorway.

She remembered the soft smile she was given when she would flinch away as the curtains were flung open and sunlight streamed in through the thin panes. Reflecting off of the glass table as she was lead to the well-loved couch that was nestled in the family room, sending bits of light bouncing off white walls and picture frames.

She remembered the feel of arms wrapping around her shoulders, hugging her to a warm side as a familiar hand ran through her pale blonde hair. How it made her feel safe. How nothing could go wrong while those arms were around her—the smell of hung-dry linen and fresh brewed tea filling her senses.

But that wasn't enough.

Pain shot through her arm as she thrashed. Voices sounded as she wailed in pain…but they were distant. Like she had been engulfed in a field of cotton. Like she was suffocating.

She couldn't remember.

Beth screamed, shaking her head violently as she wracked her brain. Trying to find it. Trying to find a memory of the one thing that mattered. She couldn't breathe without it.

She couldn't live.

She felt hands on her shoulders and legs, gentle but restraining, and the voices seemed to be weaseling through the cotton towards her. Growing louder with each new word.

" _Beth! Beth, Honey! Wake up!"_ the voices seemed to say…familiar words—a familiar voice. So close to what she was trying to find.

She couldn't remember. She couldn't remember and she was suffocating.

The pale blonde's eyes shot open, light blinding her as she wildly searched the faces looming over her. Looking just as they had sounded: clouded by cotton—blurred. Her arm throbbed again as she moved her hand toward her eyes to rub, trying to clear her vision and her mind. Trying to remember.

"Beth, honey…lie still. You've got an IV in your arm, so you gotta lie still. Everything's going to be alright," came a voice, calm and masculine and familiar.

Her father, Beth realized as she allowed him to lower her arm back to her side with a gentle hand. Blinking sporadically she forced his face into focus, white hair and kind eyes. _Daddy._ That was her daddy, that was his voice and she would never forget it…not like… Tears welled up in her eyes and quickly spilled down over her cheeks as she let out a quiet sob.

Her father pulled her into his side as best he could as he moved to perch next to her on the bed, another person moving to do the same at her other side. _Maggie._ Sandwiching her with warmth and comfort as another sob shook her tired body.

"Daddy, I-I…I…" her voice died in her throat as a she shut her eyes against the stream of tears, she couldn't get it out. Couldn't make it through the cotton for air...couldn't stop the suffocating.

She couldn't remember her mother's voice.

Beth turned to bury her head in her father's arms. She couldn't remember her voice. The voice that had woken her up and sung her to sleep… had calmed her down and offered advice. It had been a part of every day of her life—more then the scent of hung-dry linen and fresh-brewed tea. But she couldn't find it. She couldn't remember her mother's voice.

Only the gruesome snarl of her corpse as it had snapped hungrily at her neck…

Maybe the only thing to do was to suffocate.

* * *

First they saw the smoke. A haze on the highway, dark and heavy on the road before them, that forced the hunter to slow their pace. Cautiously they crept forward, as best as a machine so loud could creep, losing daylight and visibility with each passing minute.

After a moment more, the smell hit them—a strong undeniable scent of burning flesh—and with it the sound of roaring fire and panicked yelling men.

Both figures on the bike tensed as their senses reached out, absorbing the bombardment of stimulants that hit them. The hunter dropped another gear to slow their speed further as the sailor pushed herself to stand on metal pegs at his back, squinting into the haze with a freckled hand firmly griping the leather-clad shoulder before her.

The smoke burned both their eyes, reddening them as the pair stiffened at the sharp metallic sound of steel dropping on asphalt followed by further shouting. This was not what they had been expecting.

"We should approach on foot," came the sailor's rasp as she lowered herself back into the saddle again, eyebrows furrowed as she tuned her ears to the voices drifting toward them.

All seemed masculine, much like the group they had encountered earlier in the day—and this route would make sense for them. Fleeing back to the highway where the sailor assumed they had found their weaponry in the first place…but why the fire? Why the panic. It didn't make sense, especially because she couldn't hear the groan or shuffle of the dead anywhere amongst the menagerie of sounds…unless these men where once again fighting the living, like they had in the little town. Maybe ambushing for resources…

The sailor flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder as the hunter pulled the chopper to a stop and kicked out the stand. She wasn't eager to wrangle with the living again, but they needed to search the wreckage. There could be usable materials—weaponry, radios, ammunition…but more then that. She needed to find information that could lead them to functioning military facilities… A few miles before they had noticed the smoke, the pair on the chopper had come across an abandoned HUMV, all its tires thoroughly punctured and its interior obviously raided and stripped of useful material. But under the passenger seat, stuck between the metal grooves that fixed it to the vehicle, she had found a squadron patch. A Marine Corps squadron patch that was eerily familiar—the walkers she had killed had indeed come from the highway as she had speculated.

And that HUMV would not have carried all of those men. There had to be more…and more meant a chance that some bit of information—some soldier's journal or mission log—may have slipped past the gaze of a looter. This was her chance to find the trail. The first breadcrumb towards her men…towards her brother.

The sun had definitely begun its descent, because as they neared the source of the smoke, visibility became dismal.

With practiced steps the duo slunk through the gray haze, abandoning the chopper behind an enormous duely pickup that had crashed into the exterior guardrail. Quinn led, knees soft and steps silent as she held one knife and her suppressed handgun aloft, guiding the hunter with jerks of her head. She could feel the cool metal of his crossbow on her shoulder through the cotton of her long-sleeved shirt as they moved forward as one. The bow aimed carefully to cover her knife-side.

They were padding into a massive maze of cars. All wrecked, all shrouded in failing sunlight and a haze of smoke that grew thicker with each move forward, so that the appearance of the twice-dead corpses in the cars seemed softer. Harsh gaping wounds and the discoloration of death masked by gray. The sailor led them carefully to the outside of the wreckage as the shouting grew louder and the flames became visible—licking the steel walls of destroyed vehicles and climbing high into the air—so that they could easily retreat over the guard rail into the surrounding foliage.

"Get some fucking water over here!" a voice boomed through the haze, authority oozing from the tone. The sound of feet pounding asphalt following the call almost immediately.

"We're gonna loose all the fucking Hummers!"

Eyes stinging and watering, the sailor paused, signaling the hunter to do the same with the raise of her knife hand. Angry muttering and heavy running boots sounded near them, and both dropped to sit on their heels with their backs to the old sedan Quinn had stopped them behind. Weapons still raised and fingers hovering over triggers.

A man had stopped near the car they flattened themselves against.

The hunter tensed beside the sailor as they heard the stranger swearing as he tried to force open the door on the opposite side—probably in a futile search for water. He had a gun, the pair could see, a military grade automatic weapon, barely visible by the reflection of the side mirror…and more then that. They recognized him.

This was indeed the group they had encountered in the town. The group whose numbers they had definitely reduced…a fact they were not likely to have forgotten.

As the stranger struggled with the locked door, their lungs were beginning to burn from the smoke that forced its way down their airways with each quieted breath. Exchanging a glance, both desperately wished they had brought some sort of fabric to cover their face, but they didn't have time to search… The man had given up on the front passenger door and had moved to the back, nothing short of pure stupidity would keep him from seeing them if they didn't move.

Quinn jerked her head to the side and the pair was moving again. Crouched low, weapons raised and swiveling with their heads as they scanned cautiously for other men. As quickly as they could they darted from the sedan to an SUV a few cars up. Satisfied that they were momentarily hidden again, both peaked around the back of the vehicle as they heard more shouting and an attempt to start an engine. Noting that they could no longer see flames—someone other then the fucker searching the sedan must have found some sort of extinguisher—but that the smoke still sat stagnant in the windless air, heavy and gray...and the sun was still dropping.

"We need ta get moving before its pitch black! Move ya fuckin' asses! Those fuckers from town killed are men! Killed Tony, killed Frankie…killed my own little brother Randy…" the same authoritative voice from before boomed, making the hunter and sailor both tighten their grip on their weapons.

These men were trying to go after their people…after them.

After a dramatic pause and a scattering of running feet and mutterings, the voice boomed again, "Are we gonna make 'em pay? Fuckin' right we are. Get that fuckin Jeep started, Stewart. Jimmy said he saw the red Bronco heading for the fuckin' farm road almost five hours ago."

They were going after their people, and they knew where they were…

An engine on what the sailor thought could only be a large troop transport, revved. Squealed. And then sputtered out. A failure that lead to another chorus of shouts.

Sheathing her knife, Quinn shot out a freckled hand to tug the hunter back behind the SUV with her by the collar of his flannel. A move that earned her a surprised grunt as they settled nose-to-nose into a crouch, but the hunter quickly composed himself when he recognized her expression. The sailor had a plan.

Another rev sounded from the jumble of cars on the highway as she began to whisper, the engine's attempt at starting dying just as quickly as it had the first time. "I have two ideas," she started, releasing the hunter's collar as his ice blue eyes bore into her own, "One is slightly dangerous and probably immoral because we're dealing with civilians…and the other is very dangerous but decidedly more moral..."

Rev. Rev…another sputtering fail.

"Yer gonna have ta give me more then that, Lee," the hunter growled, one eyebrow raising as he searched her face to try to unveil what she could mean by _moral._

One freckled hand pushing on her face in frustrated indecision the sailor responded, "I mean…Fuck. They're coming for the farm, ace. I mean either we kill them all. Or we try to destroy most of their weapons and vehicles and scare them into fleeing…" she trailed off in her raspy whisper, soft eyes watching expression of the man before her carefully.

"An you want me to decide?" The hunter growled incredulously, leaning closer to her as on the other side of their SUV wall an engine revved and revved again.

It was a different vehicle this time, smaller, by the sound of the motor, but still the attempt to start it failed. More shouting and swearing ensued. Mostly echoing the idea of dead batteries and the need to find jumper cables.

When the sailor nodded, the hunter tore his gaze from her to stare at the asphalt between his feet, reasoning aloud as he ran both hands aggressively through his hair, "Dammit…Well even if we destroy some of their shit and their vehicles…even if we get them to drive off in the opposite direction…they could still come back, right? But fuck…we can't just kill them can we? Rick wouldn't. You know he wouldn't." With the mention of the sheriff he glanced back up to the freckled woman crouching before him. Not sure what he would expect to find in her expression…not sure if she was just testing his barbarity, because he couldn't quite believe that she needed his opinion.

Her freckled face was frowning in frustration. There was no mocking, just careful consideration of his words in the furrow of her dark brows…and that made him think, remember who was crouching before him.

Quinn Lee was a soldier. A Lieutenant Commander. Trained to lead men and to kill men…with expertise and without second thinking her decisions. If she was in a combat situation there would have only been one idea, the hunter realized, the one that got all of her men out alive and removed the threat. But this wasn't war…not quite... so the woman before him—with her deadly aim and combat tested strategy—needed a moral compass to navigate the civilian world…or this apocalyptic version of it.

 _Is that what she saw him as?_ _How could he possibly have the moral high ground on her?_ The hunter questioned himself as he waited for the sailor's reply. Another moment passed, filled with the sounds of an engine finally turning over and roaring to life, and then she was nodding. "You're right," she rasped, an odd mix of excitement and practiced calm settling over her body, "Let's go do some sabotaging… you have a gun with you?"

The hunter smirked as he withdrew a pistol from somewhere on his person. "Course I do, Lee," he growled, enjoying the way the corner of her freckled mouth twitched up with anticipation.

The sailor had a plan.

It was simple. Simple but perhaps not easy…

If she had more men, more firepower, maybe a grenade launcher…then it would be easy. _Lemons and all that…_

"Start with tires and gas tanks. Whistle if you need backup," she rasped, offering her forearm to the hunter and smirking as he met it with his own.

Then they were running.

Daryl darting out from one side of the SUV and Quinn from the other, both with guns raised as they bolted forward, heading for the military vehicles the group of men was trying desperately to make function.

With a bang the hunter fired first. A loud pop and a hiss greeting his shot as air began to rush from one of the large tires of a HUMV. He continued his run, not pausing for even a moment to glance at his handiwork. The haze of smoke and the darkening sky masked him while he flashed from car to car, careful to duck out of view as shouts rose up from the enemy as they scattered in search of a gunmen.

"Fuck! We're under attack! Get the guns! Find them before we're stranded!" Chorused around Daryl from his momentary hiding spot as he saw a tire flatten on a troop transport a few yards behind him. The pop and hiss of the tire drew the panicking men to the vehicle's side, as they hadn't heard the shot. Alarm evident in their shouts.

Pop—hisss. The men around the vehicle jumped back violently as another tire flattened before them. _Nice, Lee._

The hunter pushed off the car hiding him, and rushed into the action again, head low and gun up as he tried to stay invisible amongst the haze.

Bang. Another tire. Bang—hissssss. Then another as the hunter made a sprinting pass by the jeep they had managed to get started, making it once again useless.

Maybe ten yards behind him the sailor held back a snort as she watched the men who had sprung back so animatedly from her target now sprinted toward the sound of the hunter's shots. She followed them cautiously in their retreat, weaving between cars in the haze of slowly lifting smoke with her head low as she aimed at the tires of all the military vehicles she passed. Harsh pips sounding alongside the satisfying hiss of air as she flattened them.

"Find them!" the chorus of shouts began again. "Find them and kill the fuckers!"

 _Phase two_ , Quinn thought as she came skidding to a halt behind a ransacked tahoe. Taking a deep breath the sailor forced her heart rate down, forced calm to wash over her body—and then put two fingers in her mouth and whistled as loud as she could. _Game time motherfuckers._

The sharp sound echoed in the darkening hazy air, and for a moment, as the last reverberations died on the metal walls of abandoned cars, it was met with silence.

But only for a moment.

Feet pounded on asphalt. Angry shouts filled the air as the men sprung into action, weapons drawn as they rushed toward her call. Maybe a dozen at their full strength. "This way!" they shouted, "They're trying to force us back down the highway!" "Take them out!" Some even began firing blindly forward; hoping luck would grant them a kill.

Quinn was running again. Black boots flying over the asphalt as she darted past the charging enemy, unseen behind the shield of wrecked cars as she nimbly maneuvered around them.

Target in sight, even as the smoke thickened as she neared, the sailor moved into the open. Feet quick and silent as she sprinted the last yards, she planted her hands on firm metal and launched herself into the back of the HUMV that had until very recently been ablaze—along with several of the neighboring vehicles that appeared to have had a severe crash.

Smoke still curled from the vehicle, enveloping her and forcing her to strip off her shirt in a flourish and tie the sweaty blue thing around her nose and mouth as she stifled a cough. All around her amongst the smothering layer of ash lay horribly scorched twice-dead bodies, like someone had made a sacrificial pyre to burn inside this HUMV... _Not ideal._ The heat of the smoke and the recently burning interior bit at her skin as she vaulted over one of the mostly-melted passenger seats in a desperate search for something she knew this vehicle had to hold.

Somewhere behind her, in the direction that her enemy was charging, came the sound of an explosion. Gas maybe? Not quite loud enough to be a grenade, the sailor thought, knowing that the hunter was doing his part to aide in the distraction. It didn't surprise her that he knew how to blow things up without grenades…

A flash of metal caught her eye as she vaulted over another seat with hands burning from the scorched polyester blend. _Thank fucking everything._ This was the lead vehicle in a Marine Corps caravan, she could tell by the paint job…damn Marines and their pride. Lead vehicles had mission logs in sealed metal boxes. Just like this one, the sailor thought at she reached down and tugged the thing free from its frame under the seat, biting down hard on the cotton of her shirt that hung over her mouth as she did to contain a growl of pain. Fuck it was a hot metal box, even if it was only the size of the three-ringed binder it contained.

Gritting her teeth, the sailor clung to the mission log firmly with one hand as she made for the front passenger door—or where said door would have been—all of her skin burning from the smoke, her hand slowly growing numb with pain, and her lungs struggling despite her shirt's feeble attempt to keep smoke from her airways.

Gunfire. Shouting and running feet followed by yet another, much closer explosion echoed in her ears.

 _Fuck._

Quinn threw herself out of the HUMV in a mess of smoke and freckled limbs, and landing in a run, she made for the vehicle's side to continue the mission. Mission log still clasped in her left hand.

Dropping to her knees to roll, the sailor skidded under the vehicle. Body sliding harshly across asphalt and taking some of her freckled skin with it as her eyes darted over the undercarriage of the HUMV. _There it is._ With her free hand she drew one of her knives from her back, careful not to cut the bare skin near its sheath as she did. The smoke was almost as bad under the thing as within it, the sailor noted, coughing into her shirt-mask as she brought her knife up to slice at the gas tank.

With a screech of metal digging through metal, her blade cut through the tank, spilling gasoline haphazardly as the sailor rolled out from under the HUMV as quickly as she could. Not escaping the harshly scented liquid as much as she had hoped as she was splashed before leaping to her feet free of metal confines. _Fuck, one down three to go._

Before she darted for the next military vehicle in her sights, she tucked the now-cool mission log under her arm and tore a piece of fabric from the seat of the HUMV. Setting it ablaze it with the hunter's lighter that he had kindly loaned to her, the sailor tossed it over her shoulder into the pooling gasoline before taking off toward her next target. Flames heating her back as she went.

When she had again dropped down to roll under a large green flat-painted vehicle—with muscles tensed in anticipation—a whistle sounded, freezing her in place as her head spun toward the sound. It wasn't a whistle like the one she had used as a decoy to draw the men into their trap—it was continuous and ringing. A siren.

 _Daryl._

* * *

They sat on the roof of the Subaru, short legs kicking in small circles as they stared out over the farm's many fields.

It was the highest place their parents would let them be—even the RV was too tall—and they just wanted to see as far as they could. To see their kingdom stretched out before them with its waving fields of green and gold. With its long lines of white and wire farm fencing that boxed them in…with its safety.

Besides, Miss Quinn didn't mind if they sat up here. She would always say yes with a smile when they asked, even back at the quarry all those weeks ago. Maybe Miss Quinn trusted them more then their parents did…

"Where do ya think they went?" Carl asked, plucking seeds absentmindedly from the long blade of grass he held. His eyes drifting from their inspection of the fields to stare out down the long entry road.

At his side, Sophia thought for a moment before responding. Drawing the blue wool scarf tighter around her face and shoulders—as it fit her frame much differently than its owner's—the girl whispered, "To do something sneaky that they have to be light and quick for…" she paused, eyes sparkling excitedly as she glanced from the road to Carl, "They took Mister Daryl's bike and Quinn didn't take either of her big rifles!" she explained at his confused look.

"Well then we should do something sneaky, too!" Carl responded, equally excited. "C'mon," he continued, jumping off the side of the hatchback with a smile on his young face, "my dad is interrogating that guy they kidnapped! Lets go listen!"

Then he was running, over grass and gravel towards the little shed in the slowly dying evening light.

Ignorant to Sophia's soft call of "Carl, wait! We shouldn't!" as she dashed after him on long, wild-tested legs.

Every day since she had been carried back from the forest in Quinn's arms she felt different. Stronger as she tested her legs to run and climb—as she knew she'd have to do both again one day. Older as she strived to emulate the woman who'd saved her, and even wiser as she reflected on her own past actions with both the sailor and her mother—actions that could get her killed if she wasn't careful.

If only Carl would be careful, she thought as she crept behind the shed to see him crouching up in the little window to spy on his dad.

* * *

Let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading,

GC


	32. Chapter 32

**Disclaimer:** I'm terrible at updating… I've fallen somewhat out of love with TWD, but I do love this story and Quinn. So I'll keep trucking along… slowly. Also I don't own TWD, which is probably good because I'd be so damn slow at writing episodes each season would take years.

* * *

"They're behind that truck somewhere! Light it up, they ain't got no where to run!"

Quinn was running. Straight toward the angry shouts and gunfire of the men she and the hunter had been attempting to strand.

They had done a pretty decent job too; most of the cars she left in her wake as she dashed towards the shouts were now engulfed in flame—unusable. These well-armed bastards that were after their heads—and the heads of all of their people after the incident in the town—now had little chance of finding their sanctuary at the Greene family farm. Not without transportation.

But their work was in vain if she lost the hunter in the process, Quinn thought as she skidded to a halt behind a totaled Camry a few yards behind the fuming men. They were firing round after round into an old wrecked pickup, the only thing stopping them from approaching it and killing the hunter was his sporadic return fire.

The return fire was the only sign she had that the gruff man was still alive. Maybe their choice of sabotage rather than elimination had been incorrect, the sailor thought as she chewed her lip and checked the rounds remaining in her handgun. Or maybe every choice she made in this new world would lead to more blood on her hands.

Black boots silent on the still-smoky asphalt, the sailor burst from her hiding spot, the ringing of another shrill whistle for help driving her forward. _I'm coming._

 _Pip…Pip..Pip._ Three shots, three men down before the others turned from the truck.

"Fuck, behind us! Kill the bitch!" the man in charge of the assailants roared as they noticed the sailor sprinting towards them, the hunter forgotten for a moment.

Now within arms reach of the enemy, Quinn hit the nearest man across the face with the metal-cased mission log, yelling, "Move, Ace!" as she dodged out of the way of swinging fist.

Shots started raining down as the mob pursued her, chasing her as she backpedaled away from the hunter's hiding place, the man she had hit with the mission log now trapped in the crook of her elbow and taking the bullets in the chest with a shower of blood. With her gun hand she returned fire—vision blocked by dead weight she dragged along, and the mission log she still clasped desperately in her hand—hitting a man in the leg and causing him to collapse in a scream of pain. _Could use some help here ace._

The seconds dragged on as she struggled to hold her human shield to her chest, ammunition dwindling as the remaining half dozen men stalked her with gunfire and shouts of what else they'll fill her body with after she's full of bullets.

The hunter wasn't coming. She hadn't heard his gruff voice or the recoil of his crossbow—hadn't heard anything since his last shrill whistle. These men, these disgusting cowards who she had only drawn on in that little town in defense of her own…may have killed him. She had meant to show them mercy—to give them a chance to decide not to come to the farm, to leave in peace…because they were civilians weren't they? This wasn't war.

At least it hadn't been.

With a feral growl the SEAL threw her human shield towards the mob and dropped her gun and the metal mission log as she drew her dual knives from her back with a distinct metallic whistle.

"HOOYAH!" she shouted, raspy voice cracking and eyes blazing. Back in a war zone, her mind projecting her SEALs racing forward at her sides, her boots pounding over sand or snow…or broken cobblestone left in shards from air-raids. She had to fulfill the mission, to get her man out alive at any cost. Then Leo was shouting in her ear, his towering figure sprinting at her side and casting a shadow before her, "Ladies first, Balto!" a laugh in his voice as he followed her lead. The way he always had.

Somewhere in the distance she heard the barking of dogs. The distant outskirts of her mind, or somewhere down the highway she wasn't sure—but it didn't matter.

This was _war._ She would _win._

The bullet-riddled body collided with the leader of the pack, sending him tumbling to the asphalt and tripping several of the men behind him. Astonishment flashed across the faces of the mob as the sailor charged, sharp metal singing through the air and ponytail streaming behind her. They barely had the chance to raise their weapons in defense before she was on them. Too close to shoot, to quick to stop.

She swung, sliced, and kicked with trained precision. Drawing blood with every movement, and dropping bodies as quickly as they tried to near her. The sailor gritted her teeth as a thick hand caught her long tail of hair for a moment, before he sputtered in pain as he received a boot to the face. His nose indistinguishable in the mass of red as he collapsed.

This. This is what she was trained for. Not the brainless shuffling forms that clawed and gnawed at flesh—men. Men were easy. You could anticipate their movements, their attacks, and their defense attempts—anticipate and best them.

Finally the last left standing, her head pounding as she focused on reality—forcing down the intruding memories of sand and snow, of her men racing at her sides—Quinn glared down at the man she knew to be the leader. Her boot on his chest after having kicked her human shield off of him, she applied pressure—more and more until he groaned in pain and his eyes shot open to stare up at her. His collision with the corpse had apparently knocked him unconscious.

Her eyes were cold as she observed him quaking in fear beneath her, this man that had only moments ago threatened to violate her corpse. How foolish she had been to not immediately act to remove the threat…to trust in the good nature of people. _This is war._

Knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip on her knives, the sailor opened her mouth to growl down at terrified man—only to pause and look up, hope sending her stomach churning as she heard a muffled shout.

"Lee!"

Stooping slightly, the sailor punched the man beneath her across the face, knocking him unconscious once more before darting across the asphalt toward the wrecked pickup.

In a moment she was crouching over the hunter's battered form. Dark brows furrowed as her eyes flicked worriedly over his body, searching for injuries. He was covered in debris and ash and blood, looking very much like he had rolled in a fireplace full of glass.

"Quinn?" he questioned quietly, eyes closed, as she sheathed her knives and tugged up his shirt, revealing a large shard of glass caught in his skin. He flinched as her fingers grazed the bloodied skin.

"Hey ace, yeah its me," the sailor rasped softly in response, moving to kneel beside him as she looked for more glass stuck in his skin. Pushing the thought of how her name had sounded in his voice to the back of her mind.

His ice blue eyes flicked open, his brow creasing in pain as he attempted to sit up, one strong hand stopping the sailor's as she found another shard of glass buried in his side. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he growled, his teeth gritted as he met the sailor's eyes—knowing she was unconvinced. "Wha' happened? One of those fuckers musta knocked me out with a shot—" the hunter paused, grimacing as he moved his hand from the sailor's own to feel the side of his head and removing it bloody—"Damn…same side the blonde shot me on." He finished with a humorless bark of laughter.

The sailor raised an eyebrow at him, trying to determine how he had become a pincushion for glass shards, let alone lived through another headshot, as she muttered, "I removed the threat."

After a stretch of silence where Quinn continued to tug at the hunter's clothing in search of injuries, and he attempted to fend her off, the sailor rasped, "I thought they'd killed you."

She focused her gaze on the gash in the side of his head as the hunter stopped his mantra of " _I'm fine, Lee. I'm fine_ ," and she felt his eyes flick to her face.

The sailor let her eyes sink from his wound to his eyes as he fidgeted slightly, unshaven mouth opening and closing as he tried to say something—but then his expression changed suddenly.

Anger and surprise radiated off him as his eyes caught on something over her shoulder—and then she heard footsteps. Close behind her…clumsy and loud, something she could have caught if she hadn't been so focused on the injured man before her.

"Don't move bitch," came a deep, angry but muffled voice, sounding like the speaker had plugged his nose. His breath coming in ragged wheezes.

 _Shit._ The hairs on the sailor's arms stood on end as she tensed, a cold metal object pressed against the back of her head. A gun. _Her gun._

And then a rough, bloodied hand wound its way around her throat, even as the hunter growled, "Don't fuckin' touch her," in a tone that would have most cowering.

Quinn stayed frozen, eyes darting to the shiny paint of the truck, catching a glimpse of her captor and planning his demise as his hand tightened slightly on her throat when the hunter moved to lunge toward him.

"Move again and I'll shoot her," the man warned, his breath now heating the back of the sailor's head as he crouched uncomfortably close behind her.

She felt blood dripping onto her shoulder, and knew he must be the fellow she had kicked in the face. Eyes flicking to Daryl, she tried to calm him down and silently convey to him not to do anything stupid as she ran through potential escape plans in her head. _Escape and kill_.

"Pretty lil think ain't she," the man muttered in his muffled tone, his gaze mocking as he stared at the hunter and snaked his hand down toward the sailor's chest.

She felt the shaking of her captors laugh as the hunter growled ferociously at his movements. His hand was sliding lower and lower, its progression drawing the bloodied man's attention down her body and away from the weapon he had pressed to her head.

 _Foolish pig._

She struck as soon as she felt the muzzle slide off of her head, its wielder distracted. With all of her strength, the sailor threw her body back—elbow shooting up as she launched herself to collide with the man's already disfigured face. He let out a howl of pain—cursing as he fell backwards beneath her. Then she spun, and with a practiced twist she disarmed him, sending her suppressed handgun sliding across the asphalt.

She was about to start pounding him with clenched fists when a strong hand gripped her shoulder and tugged her off the pathetic man beneath her. The sailor made to protest, but as she turned she found Daryl Dixon looking absolutely livid—wounds forgotten—his icy eyes locked on her attacker's face. His expression clearly stating: _He's mine._

The hunter had a crossbow bolt in his hand, and with a squelch and a crack of bone he drove it through the man's eye socket. "No one's gonna look at you like that," the hunter growled to Quinn as the man screamed, "Ever again."

As he finished he drove his bolt through the man's other eye, silencing his screams as he fell dead.

The sailor dragged the hunter's attention off of the dead man after a breath. Time he spent glaring down at the disfigured face and deciding if it could use a few more holes.

"We gotta go, ace," she rasped; now standing above him with her pistol reclaimed and re-holstered. One hand tugging his arm as he reluctantly looked up, she continued, "We're losing light."

But instead of standing, the hunter caught the arm she had extended to him with a strong hand and pulled her down. Down into his arms as he rolled off of the dead man's body onto the asphalt, and held firmly to his chest.

The sailor peered up at the gruff man's face as she lay on top of him, trying to catch his gaze as she murmured, "I'm pushing all the glass further into your body," and placed her hands on either side of his torso to push herself up.

"Shuddup, Lee. I don't care," he replied, his chest rumbling under her head as he tightened his arms around her, one of his large, rough, hands moving to brush her long ponytail off her shoulder and down her back.

Quinn let herself be pressed back into his chest with warmth spreading through her body at the feeling of his hand moving over her back. She tightened her own arms at his sides to silently return the embrace.

They stayed like that for a few moments; each knowing that words would jolt them back to reality.

The last hints of the sunset were fading from the sky, a thin red line at the base of the horizon barely lighting their path when the hunter and sailor finally rose. The gruff man close at the freckled woman's shoulder as she lead him toward where she had dropped the mission log.

The metal box was waiting for them, sitting amongst the strewn bodies of the enemy. The hunter bent to pick it up, flinching from the glass still stuck in his skin as he moved—but the sailor stopped him with a freckled hand and a murmured softly, "stop fucking hurting yourself," as she quickly stooped to retrieve it herself.

But the hunter didn't seem to hear her, his eyes catching on the fallen men.

"Where's the leader, Lee?"

The sailor whipped around at his words, keen eyes searching the bodies at their feet. _Shit._

"He was here, I knocked him out when I heard you calling me," Quinn responded, dark brows furrowing as she scanned the darkening street for signs of movement. "Fuck," she murmured, when she found none, "we need to get back to the bike, ace. In case he's heading for the farm."

The hunter nodded his consent.

Before they darted down the asphalt to where they had hidden the bike, the hunter and sailor stooped to drive knives through each of the men's heads for good measure. Unwilling to take the chance that they could be followed.

Thankfully, the bike was right where they left it. Hidden from the road and waiting for them. It roared to life under the hunter's touch, its large headlight flashing on like a ball of fire. Quinn carefully climbed on behind the glass-riddled man, gingerly holding onto his waist as he kicked the bike forward and revved them into motion.

"I'm not gonna break, Lee," she heard the hunter growl over the roar of the bike, as he revved again and sent the vehicle shooting forward even faster—forcing her to tighten her grip on him. A move that she knew had him smirking, Quinn thought as she glared half-heartedly at the back of his head.

But then the hunter's voice sounded again, any humor in his tone replaced with a cautious edge, "Are those taillights up there?"

* * *

It was dark.

It was dark, and he had two rambunctious children in front of him, and one angry Maggie Green behind him—and all he could think about was Quinn Lee.

There was a fire burning in the middle of the survivor's camp next to the big white farm hours, illuminating those sitting around it with an orange glow as they watched Sophia and Carl happily throw twigs into it. The twigs made the fire pop and sent embers floating upward into the clear night sky, some sparkling toward the great tree that stood beside the house glowing as warmly as the group's faces.

They had been discussing the fate of the boy tied in the shed, faces serious and voices hushed…at least until the children had come running over to the fire with a disgruntled looking Glenn trailing them.

The young Korean had been tasked—well, asked nicely—by Carol to watch the children, and he had conceded. He needed an excuse to avoid the oldest Greene daughter, who would occasionally come down from sitting at her sister's side with her family in the house to try and talk to him. To try and tell him again that she loved him.

Glenn couldn't handle that. Couldn't handle love. Not now. Not when there was so much relying on his confidence in his ability everyday. The group trusted him, relied on him…and he had let them down in a moment of need.

He had frozen.

Running a hand through his thick hair Glenn looked from the kids to the fire—he had followed them over and joined the circle of his sitting companions, knowing that Maggie would not try to talk to him in front of the crowd. Brown eyes focusing on one particularly glowing log within the blaze, Glenn tried to think of what Q would say if she could hear his thoughts right now.

What would Quinn Lee do about freezing because you're scared to die because somebody loves you? Glenn almost chuckled to himself as he imagined the freckled woman's wild curls bouncing as she shook her head at him, saying something encouraging like " _Don't be an idiot, G. There's nothing wrong with freezing, it happens to everyone. That's why you have someone at your back."_

The thought eased some of his worries, but an imagined conversation was not as good as having his best friend at his side. There to punch him in the shoulder and tell him some story about some country he'd never heard of where she had once frozen and had to be saved.

But he couldn't imagine her freezing. Not Q. Never…she just always seemed ready. No matter how terrifying the situation or how steep the odds; she always had the same frighteningly calm expression. That's why he felt so foolish now, fidgeting in front of the fire, worrying about the one person he shouldn't worry about.

Not that he needed to worry about her trip companion either, the young Korean thought, picturing the gruff face of the hunter as he handed Sophia another stick to prod the fire with—but it was dark and they had left hours ago…after a day already so full of near death experiences.

He couldn't stop himself from worrying.

Then, he felt a vibration in his chest, and immediately Glenn's eyes shot to the road as the roar of an engine sounded. In a flash he was on his feet, eyes on the horizon—widening in fear as he saw not one vehicle, but two flying toward the entry road. Far faster than anyone need go as they approached the long gravel driveway.

"Guys!" Glenn yelled, drawing the group's attention to the road as he pointed, "Something's wrong!"

Gunshots rang out over the fields. Echoing as it reached the gathering around the fire and bringing them all springing to their feet.

"Everyone inside!" shouted Rick, as he sent Shane sprinting to get rifles.

The survivors obeyed, Dale ushering all but T, Glenn, Shane, and the sheriff into the house with the air of a protective father. Not even allowing Andrea to argue as he glared her into the house to safety.

The sheriff led the men out in front of the house, positioned between their people and the hurtling vehicles as Shane ran back with weapons in his large arms.

The deputy had the retiree's binoculars pressed to his eyes as he passed rifles to the men at his sides. The vehicles still too far away to see anything but three swerving headlights with the naked eye. "Holy shit," the hulking man whispered before forcing the binoculars into his partner's hands, "the chopper is following some giant truck, and one of our guys is hanging onto the top of the fucking truck trying to shoot the driver!" he exclaimed as Rick took the binoculars.

He was met with stunned faces, and then in a moment Rick repeated his, "Holy shit, he's right."

The binoculars quickly passed from T and then to Glenn, and when the young Korean focused his vision on the dark figure holding on to the canopy of a large truck with one hand, and firing a pistol with the other, he knew it could only be one person.

The truck driver appeared to be returning fire, and the person on the chopper sped up to try to distract the driver from his unwelcome passenger—and in a flash of the motorcycle's large headlight through the binoculars, Glenn saw her. "Holy shit, Quinn is on the truck," he muttered, and no one seemed surprised. "We need to get out there!" he continued, running toward the nearest vehicle.

The other men followed his lead, dashing toward Hershel's old red vehicle, thinking maybe they could head off the truck before anyone got hurt—but then there was a crash. The distinct sound of crunching metal as the large truck collided with a telephone pole to the side of the entry gate, its windshield shattering.

Then a gunshot rang through the air.

Followed by the sound of the chopper quickly being pulled to a halt in the gravel.

"Quinn!" Glenn yelled, forgoing the car and turning to sprint toward the crash, the other men dashing after him. "Quinn!" he yelled again as his feet flew over gravel, air whistling in his ears and deafening him to any response.

Ahead he could see a figure flash in front of the headlight of the chopper and run to try and heave open the door of the truck. The figure's attempts appeared to be unsuccessful, and as Glenn drew nearer—the other men's feet pounding at his back—he could here the gruff shouts of Daryl Dixon as he gave up on the door and started to try to climb through the high-sitting window.

"Lee! Lee, where are you?!" the hunter's panicked shouts echoed across the field.

Glenn's heart sped up wildly as he and the others skidded to a halt in front of the crashed truck, his eyes widening in fear as he took in the crash. It was a large military vehicle, painted army green and now partially smashed against the large and unforgiving mass of the metal telephone pole. Smoke was pouring from the hood and glass from the shattered windshield was everywhere, some of it that lay on the ground was coated in blood.

If Quinn had been in there when it crashed…or worse had been thrown from the top…Glenn worried, unable to vocalize anything as he approached the driver door window that the hunter had now successfully climbed through. But then he heard the gruff man speak again…soft and barely audible…and he released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

" _Jesus, Quinn don't fuckin' scare me like that."_

Glenn laughed, short and loud when he saw the sailor's face appear in the window frame of the driver door, the hunter at her back. She was scraped up and disgruntled looking, but she was alive and moving. Clambering out of the truck as she swore colorfully, Quinn took the sheriff's hand to help her down as the lean man sped to side of the crashed vehicle.

In a cloud of dust her familiar figure stood before him—still leaning on the sheriff's offered arm as the hunter jumped down behind her—weary but smiling as she rasped, "Whatcha laughing at G?"

* * *

Where were these people finding cancer patients?

One large hand tugged through wild blonde curls as he stood at the bedside of a severely underweight elderly man. He wasn't an oncologist…he didn't feel remotely confident caring for a man with stage-three lymphoma and nothing to treat it with but morphine. Hell there was nothing much he could do for this man besides force-feed him calories and pain relievers…

But he would do it, the fear for his family's safety keeping him in the makeshift hospital day after day the same way it kept Merle and Leo obediently on patrol duty, and kept Claire teaching at the makeshift school with her best attempt at a smile plastered to her face. They all had the baby to think about. The one thing keeping them from shooting their way to freedom and fleeing to find the other Lee and Dixon siblings.

The men in charge of this prison-deemed-sanctuary killed newcomers at will—Wes had seen it himself through the corner of his dark window one night when Merle had woken him with a worried look haunting his graying face…so why where they finding and keeping these incurable patients?

The blonde man knew the reasons could only be dark…as were all reasons for decisions made by the Governor.


End file.
